By Any Mark of Favor
by Fire the Blood of Ordinary Men
Summary: The tale of Thranduil's wife, Himlóm, and her life as both a descendant of Fëanor, and as a powerful prophetess.
1. And the Wind

I have just three comments before my story begins.

1) I do not own this, Tolkien was the mastermind behind this world (And all titles are from Shakespeare, his plays have a quote for everything).

2) This a AU, with some events being switched around, and some other things being different. Don't be surprised if I change some things to the story.

3) I lost patience before I could get a beta for this story. Please, if something does not make sense, tell me exactly what it is. I will not be offended, like any other writer, I want my story to make sense. Just tell me if it doesn't.

* * *

It was dinner in Lothlórien, and the fellowship of the ring was eating with the Lady Galadriel, and the Lord Celeborn. The hobbits were of course eating, but the rest of the company was focusing on other manners. Aragorn was agonizing over the path ahead; Boromir was struggling with what the Lady had told him; and Gimli was too entranced with her beauty even to eat. Legolas, unafraid, was talking cheerfully with Galadriel and Celeborn, about things that mattered little to any being but the elves. Boromir finally looked up.

"I give up." He sighed. "You elves must fear nothing, if your power is this much, my Lady."

Galadriel laughed. "My power is great, but it is not the greatest among my people. I once knew an elvish queen who could easily best me in her rage."

Aragorn looked up, called from his worries by her words. "Who among elves is stronger than you?" He asked, puzzled.

The Lady of the Lorien stood up. "Has Legolas told you nothing of his mother?" She asked, amused. The entire fellowship looked at their elvish member, who looked incredibly embarrassed. Galadriel continues, "Of course I speak of Himlóm, queen of what you mortals call the Mirkwood, though it was not called that in her time."

"In all fairness," Celeborn interjected, "Whether or not she was ever queen was debatable, given the circumstances." He stopped, as Galadriel shot him a look.

"I have not heard any stories." Aragorn commented. "Ranrûth was too grieved over her mother's passing, and Legolas was too young to know any." He looked over at his friend, suddenly worried that he had offended Legolas. To his delight, Legolas agreed with him.

"Oh please, Lady Galadriel." He begged. "I only know her from, and there are so few spoken in anything but whispers."

Galadriel looked uncertain. "I do not wish to awaken any grief." She sighed. "Himlóm was family."

However, the hobbits had stopped eating at the thought of a good story. "Better to talk about it than just cry" Pippin said, in one of his few sensible moments.

The Lady smiled. "You are correct. Perhaps," She said, wistfully, "If my people understood that, then our time would not now be ending." Looking across at the fellowship, she saw that even Boromir had turned to look, curious at a look at their most mysterious companion's family. Galadriel then looked to the centerpiece of the table. It was a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as its eyes. "It begins, I suppose, in Valinor."


	2. The Purchase Made

Thanks to everyone who commented/read my story. Please remember, if something doesn't make sense, just tell me.

The lines indicate time jumps, which are necessary and hopefully not too confusing. Again, if you have questions, I can answer them (unless I made it ambiguous on purpose. Then I won't).

* * *

I will not now bore you with tales that you already know, of elves, the things they wrought, and why the Noldor left their beloved home. There is one thing, however, that is not common knowledge that is quite important for the story. Makalaurë Fëanárion, who also swore to defend the silmarils, took for his wife Alatatir. She, out of unimaginable love, left Valinor with him.

"In the beginning, there was only starlight and song." Culwen's voice echoed through the tent. The elleth smiled at the three elflings staring in awe at her, curious for a story.

Losmírë was the youngest, her blond hair revealing her Vanyar heritage. She was the only child of Alatatir's only sister, who had died in battle. The Fëanárions' had taken in the orphaned girl, and she was a part of the family.

Culwen next turned to the next elfling: Telperinquar. Her smile widened as she looked at her son, the mirror image of his father. His face only slightly revealed her influence, as well as his gleaming, searching eyes.

Last, she turned to Himlóm. The eldest of the three, though not by much, looked impatiently at her. With her ebony hair, she could not have been more different than Losmírë. It was hard to believe that the delicate elfling was heir to the throne. Culwen's smile faded as she thought of Maitimo's torment.

She recovered from the thought, and turned back to the elflings. "It was into this twilight world that Aelinelen awoke, eldest of the firstborn. She awoke, and looked into the nearby lake. It was in that water, the surface dotted with the reflections of countless stars, that Aelinelen saw all. All of time, past, present, and future, is revealed to her. Even now, she only tells the future with water she brought from that lake."

"Isn't Aelinelen our grandmother?" Losmírë interrupted.

Culwen sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she would not finish the story. "She is the mother of your mothers."

Himlóm frowned. "So, who is our grandfather?"

"Fëanáro."

"The other one."

The elleth groaned. She completely blamed her husband's side of the family for the elfling's inquisitiveness. "No one really knows." She said. "It is likely one of the Sindar, one who was alive at the beginning."

Her son looked confused. "So Aelinelen is a seer?" He asked.

"Yes." Culwen responded. "Alatatir is as well, but both of them can also see the past, unlike the typical seer."

"What about you?" Losmírë interjected. "I heard uncle Tyelkormo say that you know what is to come."

"That is not because I am a seer." Culwen explained. "I know what will happen because, for incredibly complicated reasons even I cannot fathom, I am from the future."

"What?" All of the elflings exclaimed.

She gave a smile. "I am from the future." She repeated. "Your future is my past, so if I know what is to come, it only means that I studied well. I do have the sight, but not in the seer way. I can see what is, I cannot be swayed by illusions, or fair words."

"But you do know the future." Himlóm insisted. "Doesn't that change what you do?"

For just a second, Culwen looked more than just a simple elleth. Then it passed, as she laughed. "Little one," She said, "There is a burden in knowing what is to come. All you can do is your best."

* * *

Thingol's proclamation brought chaos to the Noldor, all of them. There was anger, outrage, and fear. They could do nothing to protest the banning of their language. It did not take long for the house of Fëanor to gather, in Maitimo's halls.

The ellon had recovered well since his dramatic rescue by Findekáno, and now led his house, to the relief of all. He towered over all in the room; his scars making him seem even more imposing. His temper had, for the most part, not changed; he was kind as ever. However, even he looked angry at the news.

"He has no right!" Carnistir snapped.

Makalaurë sighed. "He is angry, rightfully, over the death of his kin. We are on his land, they outnumber us, and we need to trade with them. We must speak Sindarin, whether we like it or not."

Curufinwë frowned. "What about names? Must we change those as well?"

Everyone exchanged unhappy looks. Himlóm shifted awkwardly. The elleth had just recently come of age, and thus was invited to the meeting. She turned to look at her uncle Maitimo. "Yes." He replied, bluntly. "I would go, now, to figure that out."

Himlóm swept out of the meeting, ahead of her unhappy family. The elleth ran to the nearby gardens, where her friends were waiting for word. They all turned to look at her as she approached; her cousins, Losmírë and Telperinquar; Esgaldûr, who loved Losmírë; and Malomë, another dear friend. "What did they say?" Malomë asked, as her eyes filled with fear.

"We will obey Thingol." Himlóm responded. "And change our names as well, to show our obedience."

Esgaldûr groaned. Losmírë turned to frown at him. "Why are you so upset? Your name doesn't change. My name is now Losmîr."

"Of least it is close." Telperinquar responded. "Mine is now Celebrimbor."

"And mine is Camdú." Malomë added. She turned to Himlóm. "Your name does not change either."

"My mother's does." Himlóm said. "From Alatatir to Galadir. Do you all even know Sindarin well enough to get by?"

The young elves suddenly looked worried, as the extent of the ban set in. Celebrimbor sighed. "My mother speaks it fluently, and her name doesn't change. Since she is from the future, I suppose we should have expected something like this."

* * *

"We leave tomorrow." Himlóm said. The Fëanorions had begun to disperse, which meant that she would soon part with Celebrimbor. He winced at her news.

"We leave next week." He responded, quieter. Losmîr, Esgaldûr, and Camdú were all with Maglor's people, while Celebrimbor would follow his father.

Himlóm gave a faint smile. "I'm sure we will meet again soon." She said. It was hard for her to ignore the strange feeling that said it would be a long time before the two cousins met. She pushed the fear down. There had been no indication that she was a seer, to Galadir's joy. Nor did Himlóm wish to tell the future. Even so, something told her to be cautious.

Celebrimbor stood up. "My father is calling." He said. "I should go. Goodbye, cousin."

"Goodbye."

* * *

"Himlóm!" The slender elleth looked back at her friend, confused. Losmîr ran up, panting. She did her best to look angry at the bemused Himlóm. "Your father was looking for you." Himlóm sighed, looking wistfully out the window. Losmîr took a concerned step towards her friend. It was rare to see her in such a state of melancholy, usually it was a struggle to get her playful friend to be serious for a little bit. "Are you okay?"

Himlóm jolted slightly as she heard the concern in her friend's voice. "I am all right." She assured Losmîr. "I just see no point in these endless meetings, learning how to rule a kingdom and such. It would be a better use of my time to flirt with Esgaldûr like you do." Losmîr flushed red.

"One day," She replied hotly, "You'll meet someone. Then you'll be singing a different tune." Himlóm laughed.

"I think not. You two are certainly a pair." She replied, teasingly. Despite this, Himlóm delighted in her friend's happiness. That did not mean she was serious about it. Himlóm laughed at her friend's discomfort, then a thought struck her, and the smile faded away.

Losmîr saw this, and grabbed her cousin's arm. "What is wrong?" She asked urgently. Himlóm jolted, startled out of her thoughts. She shook her head.

"It is nothing." She insisted.

"It is not nothing." Losmîr demanded. "Something is clearly troubling you."

"It is just a dream."

"A dream?" Losmîr paled. Galadir, unlike her mother, got prophecies from dreams. Himlóm was not old enough yet that the elleth could have not inherited the gift. "What was it?"

Himlóm closed her eyes, remembering. "First I saw you." Losmîr jolted. "You and Esgaldûr, dead! And I turn and pick up a young elfling, with golden hair." Himlóm slid down to the ground, bracing herself against the wall. "Then there is a beautiful city, which I do not recognize. But it is on fire, and I can do nothing to save it." Losmîr dropped next to her friend, a vain attempt to offer comfort. "Next," She sniffed, through tears, "Is not bad, as much as confusing. A Sindarin elf, one I do not know, offers me a ring."

She took a breath, gathering her strength. "In the next, I am at a coming of age ceremony for two ellons, identical twins, with black hair."

"Finally, there is the last image." Himlóm was shaking, the fear she had hid for so long getting the best of her. "I am between armies of all races, and there are dark tall gates. There is a maia in terrible black armor. We fight," She broke off, succumbing to the tears running down her face.

"What is it?" Losmîr asked, concerned. Himlóm did not respond. Losmîr's concern grew. Her friend was so rarely rattled that her silence was terrifying. "What else did you see?"

Himlóm looked at her friend with tear-filled eyes. "I saw my death."

* * *

"Congratulations." Losmîr blushed as her cousin appeared behind her. "I thought that Esgaldûr would never ask you to marry him, yet here we are."

"Excuse me." Esgaldûr appeared beside his new wife. "You greatly underestimate me, Himlóm." Losmîr laughed as her husband and best friend quarreled. Himlóm's despair had been temporary; nobody had even noticed her distress. Even Himlóm, when time had gone by, felt that it was only a dream. She was singing now, a song of joy for the new couple. At her voice the flowers became brighter, the trees began to grow, the people were even happier. Only Losmîr saw the elleth's gaze follow her mother's path.

Losmîr edged closer as Himlóm went to talk to Galadir. "Mother," Himlóm began, then hesitated, "Have you ever seen your death?" Galadir closed her eyes, before looking at her daughter.

"Darling," The elleth began, "I have prayed that you would not get my gift, that the future would be a surprise, unpleasant or not. But for you to ask that, then the Valar have ignored my petition." Galadir's eyes became pained, as if she saw something that no one else did. "And it is because of that, that I will not answer your question. To know your own death," She continued, "Is a terrible burden."

* * *

Esgaldûr stood proudly by her side. Losmîr hoped that she could convince him to do something else after a time. Before that however, she had to give the news to her dearest friend.  
"An elfling!" Himlóm gasped. "You and Esgaldûr are going to be parents?" She put a hand to her forehead, dramatically. "Save this next generation." Losmîr pushed her friend, teasingly.

"We are more competent than that." Himlóm smirked. Losmîr rejoiced at her reaction. It hadn't been that long since Esgaldûr and she had gotten married, and the cousins hadn't talked much since then. Himlóm seemed to be taking her mother's words well, and banished the strange dreams from her head. Esgaldûr leaned forward.

"Elflings are a blessing, and surely are a sign of good things to come." Losmîr agreed, laughing. Neither of them noticed the slight discontent on Himlóm's face. Thoughts of the dream had not yet been banished.

* * *

Losmîr and Himlóm sat, sipping tea and ignoring the relative chaos around them. Losmîr's son, Glorfindel, even at his young age, caused trouble wherever he went. Himlóm laughed at his antics, amazed by his wonder of all things.

Her smile faded as Losmîr turned to scold her son. She had known, even when she had first held him, that Glorfindel was the elfling of her dreams. Since her was real, then that meant everything else was. Himlóm felt fear rising inside her. She did not want to trouble her cousin, so she spoke no more of her dreams. To her fear, she only saw more.

Her, walking down the halls, singing as usual. A door left ajar; she went to close it. Inside were Losmîr and Esgaldûr, dead, her father's guards surrounding them, blood on their swords. She turned and picked up a sobbing Glorfindel. And then she woke. Himlóm sighed. "How do you accuse someone of murder," She whispered, "When the crime has not yet happened."

Losmîr looked back at her. "What?" She asked, as a messenger burst into the room.

He dropped to the ground, out of respect for his lord's daughter or exhaustion, Himlóm could not tell. There was blood dripping off his robes, and he was gasping for breath. "My lady," He turned to Himlóm, "My patrol was attacked by orcs, there are many injured." Himlóm's heart was full of dread. She was a healer, yes, but off duty. There would need to be grievous injuries indeed to request her help. She flinched as the messenger met her eyes. His were full of pity, and grief. "It is your mother, the lady Galadir."

Himlóm did not listen to the rest of his message, instead racing through the hallways, to the healing rooms. Outside was her father sobbing, as his advisors attempted to comfort him. Her heart stopped. Her father never cried, ever. The grief that had filled him was in the air, so thick you could touch it. Her eyes filled with tears.

Maedhros looked at her, his eyes filled with tears at his sister-in-law's fate. "She wants to see you, Himlóm." He said. Hesitantly, he added, "You should hurry; it will not be long now."

She stifled a wail of grief as she passed by her father into the healing rooms. Lying in one of the beds was her mother, calm compared to the misery of Maglor. The beautiful elf was dying, her body pierced by many swords. Galadir felt grief, not for herself, but for what it would do to her family. She embraced her sobbing daughter.

"Darling," She began. Himlóm looked at her with tear-filled eyes.

"Do not speak." Himlóm begged. "It will make your injuries worse."

Galadir laughed at the thought. "It can't get any worse than fatal, my dear." She pointed out. "There is something I must tell you." Himlóm started. "And I will finally answer the question you once asked me."

"All seers have several visions at the beginning, their great visions. They are large turning points, some good, and some bad." Galadir looked at her daughter, eyes filled with sorrow. "I also saw my death as a child; this moment has been a long time in coming."

Himlóm sat down, into a chair by the bed. "Losmîr and Esgaldûr are to die." She whispered in shock. Galadir raised a shaking hand to brush her daughter's cheek.

"My beautiful daughter," She whispered, "To think of others before yourself is your greatest strength."

"It is no strength!" Himlóm exclaimed. "If I were strong then I could prevent what is to come!"

"No one can." Galadir responded. She grasped Himlóm's hands. "Protect those you love, my dear, but do not get lost in grief."

With that she died. Even nature mourned for the death of Galadir, wife of Maglor; the weather grew cold and harsh, and flowers and trees wilted and died. Far away, in Valinor, the Valar wept for the death of one who did not deserve it, who suffered out of love for another.

Himlóm left her mother's side, weeping. She went to her mother's rooms, a vain attempt to console herself. She curled up in a comfortable chair, sobbing. After a length, she looked up to a see a note addressed to her on a nearby side table. The young elleth picked it up, hand shaking. It was in her mother's graceful hand writing.

"My dear daughter," It said, "I leave to you this candlestick. It was given to me by my mother at my wedding day, and although I must give it to you early, you will give it to your daughter on her wedding day." Himlóm looked up from the paper at her heirloom. It was a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as eyes.

She took it, and began to sing a song of great grief, that would cause all around her to weep. And she saw that she would sing it twice more before the end of her days.

* * *

Himlóm let out a sigh as she left the crowded healing rooms, blood on her robes from another lost life. She began to walk to her quarters to change, singing as she went. Passing the throne room, she flinched as her father came out.

He had reacted to her mother's death with fury, blaming orcs for her death, sending patrols out to kill them, not just to defend the people. Maglor was becoming increasingly paranoid, accusing loyal elves of betraying him at the slightest sign, sometimes an imagined one. Himlóm was worried about him, and about the people that served him. It seemed that no one could win in the relentless pursuit. She had pushed all her visions to the back of her mind. There was no time for that now.

* * *

She walked through the halls late at night, singing, her dreams too disturbed by visions to last. Looking ahead, she saw a door ajar. And it filled her with fear, reminding her of all the things that she had been trying to ignore. "Losmîr." She gasped, and ran into the room.

Inside was a scene she had seen countless times. Losmîr, her sweet, beloved cousin, lying dead, her husband beside her. Maglor's guards, who had always been so kind to their lord's daughter, stood over them, blood on their swords and garment. Himlóm looked over to where she knew Glorfindel was hiding, and he threw himself into her arms. She turned and walked out; her message clear. The Magloriel, whose laughter and songs used to brighten up her father's halls, would do so no more.

Himlóm stalked back to her room, fuming. She could feel Glorfindel shaking and crying in her arms. There was an unfamiliar feeling inside of her, a rage that was growing by the moment. Glorfindel only sobbed, curled up in her arms. Her heart broke when she realized what had to happen, how much more he would suffer because of what was to come.

She placed the elfling on her bed. He was now quiet at seeing her distress. Taking a bag, she put clothes and healing supplies in it. A servant appeared at the door. "Your father wishes to see you." They said, hesitantly.

Himlóm took up her bag. "And I wish to see him." She responded; her voice cold. Adding her mother's candlestick to the bag, she called Glorfindel to his feet, and the two left the room.

They walked in silence to the throne room. Outside was Camdú. "Is it really true?" Camdú asked. "Are Losmîr and Esgaldûr really. . ." The elleth let out a sob at Himlóm's nod. And Himlóm had an idea.

"Camdú," She said urgently. Her friend looked up at her. "Camdú, I need you to take care of Glorfindel." Both Camdú and Glorfindel looked up at her, surprised. "Please." Camdú nodded, and picked up the little elfling.

"Himlóm?" Glorfindel called, his voice filled with betrayal, as Camdú carried him away. Himlóm felt tears on her face, as if this last loss was enough to despair about.

"I am sorry." She whispered, with a voice too quiet for even Camdú to hear. "It is better for you to be raised by another, then to possible die in this forced exile I will choose." With that she entered the throne room, several people curiously trailing behind her.

Inside were her father and uncle. Maglor obviously furious, Maedhros looking like he wished he was not there. Himlóm stopped her father's accusations with a glare, before beginning. "No longer will I live in these halls knowing the cruelty that lurks within. I will wander these barren lands instead, and find sanctuary in another's realm."

Her father was shocked beyond words. Maedhros, seeing his brother was not going to respond, turned to his niece. "What of Glorfindel?" He asked.

Himlóm winced. "He will be safe with Camdú." She vowed. The elleth turned, and began to exit the halls, but paused at the last moment. She turned back to the Fëanorions. Even the most hardened of those present flinched at the fire burning in her eyes. And she spoke with a strength and wisdom that so suddenly came into her voice.

"When we next meet," She said, addressing her father, "There will be an attack of orcs, and the remnants of the people of Fëanor will be destroyed." There was a silence in those halls, for she spoke of the deaths of those present. Himlóm took a deep breath, before finishing in an almost trembling voice. "This is my first proclamation."

With that the Magloriel departed from her father's halls, and never again entered them.


	3. Such Uses Send

Please tell me whether or not ya'll thought the last chapter was a good length or not, because I can split up later chapters if I need to. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

"Do you want some tea?" The entire fellowship jumped at Galadriel's question.

"That was it?" Aragorn exclaimed, in absolute disbelief.

The Lady laughed. "Of course not." She motioned for a servant to pour them all cups. "My voice was weary, and it was a good stopping point."

Sam looked at Galadriel in wonder. "Your voice was weary?" He asked, pleased by the opportunity to learn more about elvish ways.

Legolas rolled her eyes. "She has not worked near hard enough to be weary." He informed the others. "She was merely thinking ahead in her story; Gondolin was well known for its tea."

All the hobbits looked up at the mention of food. "Tea?" Pippin asked hopefully.

Celeborn laughed. "There will be tea in the next part." He told them. "Along with wise kings and joyous songs and tales of great valor."

Boromir frowned. "I know not of these elvish names, what is this Gondolin you speak of?"

"It is one of the elvish strongholds of the first age." Aragorn informed his fellow man. "It was ruled by Turgon Fingolfinion." His eyes went to the stars as he continued. "Joyous are the songs about life in the hidden city, and of great sadness the songs of its fall. Even I have heard stories about Himlóm's deeds in that great city."

"Aye." Legolas agreed. "It irritated my father's father to no end. He depended on respect to rule his realm, but my mother would never give allegiance to any but her king, Turgon."

"She rated even the high king of the exiled Noldor, Gil-galad, below him." Galadriel smiled, remembering. "Though Gil-galad was so much younger than her, she could never quite see him as the great elf-lord that he was." She shook her head, clearing it. "But I get ahead of myself again."

"Why?" Everyone turned to look at Merry. "Why would she respect Turgon more than even her father-in-law?" He continued.

"Because Oropher was so annoying." Galadriel muttered. Then, as if she hadn't just insulted Legolas's grandfather (Legolas did not care, no one had liked his grandfather) went on. "That is the subject of out next story. Now, when we last left Himlóm, she had left her father for the wilderness. But her gift of prophecy had only gotten stronger.


	4. Merely Upon Myself

Himlóm took a heavy breath. Even she, one of the firstborn, could not go on forever. She had walked for days, not sleeping in fear of attack. Her rations were almost out, and water was far too scarce. She only had one hope. Eagles circled above her, concerned about the intruder.

She smiled, and looked up to them. "I am here." Himlóm told them, missing company enough to talk to them. "I am heading for the hidden city, to plead my case to its king, Turgon." She broke off as her ears picked up on the faint sound of a patrol surrounding her. "Do not bother hiding." She called. "I already know that you are there."

The patrol stepped out from behind the rocks, some looking ashamed over being heard. The eagles flew away, confident that the patrol was enough. The leader, a dark-haired elf, stepped forward. "I am Árëalda." He announced. Glaring at Himlóm, he moved in order to better reach his sword. "How do you know where Gondolin is?"

Himlóm smiled at the confirmation of her visions. "I am Himlóm of the Noldor." She explained. "And do not fear, the location of your city only exists in rumors and myths. I am only here because I saw it."

Árëalda frowned. "You could not have come before without our knowledge."

She laughed. "I have never been here before. But I have seen it."

"Ah!" Another elf's eyes lit up. "You are a seer." He put his sword in its sheath. "I am Ecthelion of the Fountain." He added respectfully.

Himlóm nodded. "I am a relation of your king. I was hoping that he could offer me aid."

Árëalda and Ecthelion look at each other, before nodding. "We will take you to see him." Árëalda told her reluctantly. The entire patrol decided to head back, anxious about the mysterious interloper.

Ecthelion walked beside her, chatting cheerfully. "Our lady Idril has the gift of prophecy as well." Himlóm nodded tiredly. Her luggage was heavy, and was not becoming any lighter. Still, she looked curiously at Ecthelion, the warrior being so different from the people of Fëanor. The ellon had noticed her fatigue, and smiled. "We are here!" He proclaimed, and led her into the city.

Himlóm gasped, her visions had not shown her the full glory of the hidden city. The city, so white, was dotted with gardens and singing elves.

Sudden recognition, and grief, hit her. Gondolin was the city from her second great vision. She remembered her own words. "Then there is a beautiful city, which I do not recognize. But it is on fire, and I can do nothing to save it." Horror filled her as she began to realize what a great tragedy it would be for this great elvish stronghold to fall.

Árëalda coughed pointedly, and Himlóm jumped, before beginning to follow him through the city. She kept her head held high, even as rumors about her began to spread, the pride of the Noldor raising its head. He led her to a grand building in the center of town. Casting a final look at the city she knew would fall, she entered.

An elf lord was sitting on an oak chair, a throne of a more humble king. An elleth stood behind him, her eyes filled with curiosity. The royal family, Himlóm thought, Turgon and Idril.

Turgon, surprisingly, smiled. "You are the daughter of Makalaurë Fëanorion and Alatatir." His smile grew even wider at her surprise. "You look very much like your father, although you very much have a Vanyar air."

Árëalda stepped forward, rage in his demeanor. "She is one of the Fëanor, why is she still here?"

Himlóm glared at him. "Not all of us endorse the kinslayings, or the oath that led to them. My powers are still growing, but I see very clearly that it will be the destruction of us all if someone does not intervene."

Árëalda took a step back at the heat of her fury. Turgon however, rose to his feet. "You are family; of course, you may stay here. If I recall correctly," He said thoughtfully, "Káno was known for his music. I have no doubt that you too have a voice of gold, so you can be the minstrel of my court." He looked directly into her eyes, brown meeting brown. "The minstrel of Gondolin."

* * *

Himlóm sat quietly on the cliff, looking at the place that had become her home. Ecthelion had taken her under his wind, and she had just begun to learn to fight, under the excitable warrior. Idril and she had become fast friends, always ready to share a song or two. But even now, she could not banish thoughts of the future. Or of the past, Himlóm thought bitterly, tears filling her eyes at the thought of Losmírë.

"I thought I would find you here." She jumped as Turukáno appeared behind her.

"My lord!" She gasped, jumping to her feet.

He shook his head. "There is no need to bear with the formalities, little cousin." Concern filled his eyes as he looked at her distressed face. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing." Himlóm responded, before sighing. "I was only thinking of Losmírë, her husband, and her son."

Turukáno nodded. She had long ago told him the full events that had brought her here, away from the ears of others. "You cannot see if you will meet Glorfindel again?" He asked sympathetically.

She shook her head. "It is not that." She said miserably. "It is everything. How am I supposed to live my life, when all I see is the future?" How am I supposed to enjoy myself, when I see the terrible things that will happen to all, even you and this city." She broke off, sobbing.

And it was then that Turukáno, king of Gondolin, realized that his city would fall, and he with it.

But he took a deep breath, and held out his burden to the slender elleth before him.

She looked up at him, confused. It was a sword, long, sharp, and full of power before it even had an owner. Turukáno met her gaze. "It was made by Itarillë, for her greatest friend." He pushed the sword into Himlóm's arms. "It is yours."

"What good is a sword for me?" She asked. "What can I do to prevent what is to come?"

"You cannot." Turukáno told her. She looked at him in surprise. "I have known enough with the gift to know that the future cannot be changed. But you can see far farther and clearer than any other, and this gift is not for nothing."

"It is no gift." Himlóm spat those words out. "It is a curse beyond reckoning."

"There is a reason." He insisted. "You can change nothing, but you can advise others in their ways, and comfort them in troubles. Your gift has the potential to shape lives for the better, if you only would use it for that purpose."

She looked doubtfully at the sword. "How can I help anyone?" She asked, so quietly he almost did not hear it.

Turukáno smiled in response. "It only begins with a single action."

* * *

Himlóm had managed to fade into the background, among the excited court. The reappearance of Írissë, along with the existence of her son, Maeglin, had caused quite the stir. The elleth inwardly winced at the joy on Turukáno's face. She knew how this would end.

The door swung open, revealing an angry Avari elf. "Where are my wife and son?" He growled. Everyone looked at an equally angry Írissë.

"I am not yours, Eöl." Írissë hissed. "I will go where I like."

"Sister," Turukáno said. "That psychology is what got us here. He can stay here if he likes, since we are kin."

"I will serve no king." Eöl said, eyes unfriendly.

Ecthelion walked up behind Himlóm. "What does he want us to do?" The ellon said, with a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. The minstrel shrugged. They both shot to attention as yells ran out in front of them.

While they had been talking amongst themselves, Eöl had attempted to kill Maeglin, hitting Írissë instead. He had also managed to kill six guards, who had come to Írissë's aid. The Avari ellon now approached Turukáno, the king's eyes wide at the carnage Eöl had left behind. "I will be controlled by no one." Eöl growled. "I will not be. . ."

His words were cut short, as Himlóm came up and knocked him out with her newly-gifted sword. They watched in silence as he crumpled to the floor. "He will be executed for this." She commented.

"No!" Maeglin yelled. "Don't kill him."

"I am sorry, nephew." Turukáno said. "He killed several guards in cold blood. I wish it could be else wise, but there can be no exceptions for anyone." Maeglin only scowled.

* * *

Itarillë followed Himlóm, bending as low as possible below the rocks. The two elleths and Ecthelion were on a scouting mission, to discover more about a group of orcs that had wandered near Gondolin. Ecthelion had joked that the patrol was an attempt by Maeglin to get rid of his least favorite people. Itarillë had agreed, and even Turukáno had laughed.

The group stopped as they caught sight of the orcs. There was a sizable number, too many for them to ambush, but Himlóm tightened her grip on her sword anyway. Something was wrong. She looked in horror as she realized that they were torturing a captive elf. His body was covered with burns and bruises.

Itarillë gasped. "He looks so young." The lady of Gondolin looked in concern at Himlóm. Her friend's eyes were wide with shock, like she was seeing something that the other two did not. Himlóm slowly stood up, unsheathing her still unnamed sword.

"We need to do something." She said, her voice filled with a rare tone of determination. Itarillë and Ecthelion exchanged surprised looks, and Himlóm ignored them. She looked once more at the young elf, remembering a time when Losmírë and she had drunk tea, as a young elfling ran around them. Glorfindel looked achingly like his mother, still with his unique golden hair. Something steeled inside her, a determination that she would protect her cousin's son.

The small group, Itarillë and Ecthelion having decided that nothing would stop an enraged Himlóm, crept closer to the orc encampment. They were close enough to hear everything; the orcs mocking jeers, and Glorfindel's cries of pain. Even Ecthelion, the calmest of the group, was filled with rage. And they attacked as one.

Itarillë swung her twin knives, eyes flaming with a righteous anger. She cut down several immediately, always fighting two orcs at a time. Ducking to avoid a would-be deadly blow, the Turukániel was a formidable adversary. More so was Ecthelion. His sword looked back and forth with powerful blows, clearing a path in the orcs. None could even touch him, let alone injure the elf of the Fountain. Just as powerful as her friends was Himlóm.

The graceful minstrel of Gondolin went straight to the aid of her young relative, cutting down his tormentors with terrifying ease. She sang a different song, a war song. Orcs fell down at the sound of her voice. Soon the orcs were dead, all but one. The orc looked at Himlóm, with hatred in its eyes. She glared back, standing over the creature.

"Who are you?" The orc asked her.

"I," She said, "Am Himlóm Magloriel." She pulled up her sword, gleaming with the blood of orcs. "This is Orcist." Looking straight at the orc, she continued. "It will be feared in its own right, because of all the orcs that will fall to it while in my keeping. For this action, my wrath will never cease towards the creatures of Morgoth." And Himlóm, in that moment, looked like the daughter of a Fëanárion.

The orc, already injured fatally, died then. She turned back to Glorfindel, that a concerned Ecthelion was already bent over. He looked up at her. "This doesn't look good." Ecthelion said grimly, as Himlóm knelt beside him. The young elf couldn't move an inch without severe pain, but he was conscious.

"Glorfindel," She whispered, "You are going to be okay; you are safe." Himlóm hesitated. "Do you know who I am?"

Glorfindel opened one of his eyes. "Himlóm." He breathed, in relief. The elleth smile, relived. Itarillë rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"What are we going to do?" Itarillë whispered. "We cannot move him alone, and there will be no patrol to help for many hours." Himlóm smiled.

"Maeglin is easy to bait." The elleth said, simply. The three looked up to a cliff nearby, where a Gondolin patrol, headed by the nephew of Turukáno himself. Looking in awe at the dead orcs, they made their way down to the small group. Himlóm gave Itarillë a satisfied look, before turning to Maeglin. "I thought you wouldn't come." She commented, smirking.

"Don't be ridiculous." The dark-eyed warrior countered. "Even I listen to you." The elleth started to stand up, before sitting back suddenly with a groan.

"Himlóm!" Itarillë exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Himlóm responded sleepily. "I am just so tired."

"Tired?" Ecthelion asked, carefully supporting his friend. "Why?"

The Gondolindrim minstrel yawned. "I haven't worked so hard in years." She explained. "I used a lot of energy for that song."

"Wait!" Maeglin called. "Who's the kid?" He gestured to Glorfindel, who was now unconscious.

Himlóm looked at Maeglin. "Tell the king he is," She hesitated, thinking, "The Esgaldûrion." Then she fell asleep.

* * *

"What of his foster mother?" Glorfindel had been helped as best as possible, and was resting in a guest room. Turukáno had gone to see the young elf, and found Himlóm there. She was still tired, but refused to go to sleep. She looked down at his question.

"Malomë is a loyal friend, but she could not prevent him from growing up, from being obligated to fight Morgoth." Himlóm sighed, before looking at the object in her hands. It was a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as eyes.

"Your mother's?" Turukáno asked gently, gesturing to the heirloom. The elleth nodded stiffly. The elf king sat down beside his minstrel. He looked cautiously at her. "What of your father?"

Himlóm let out a faint smile. "Better." She said quietly. "My departure shocked him back into sanity." Meeting her king's eyes, she continued. "He deeply regrets it." Both elves looked away, lost in thoughts of things long past. Eventually, Himlóm looked back to Turukáno. "You do not have a sword." She observed quietly.

Turukáno nodded. Many elves had wondered about his lack of weaponry. Most assumed that there was a philosophical reason behind it, but the reality was much simpler. "I have seen so sword beautiful enough to wield." He told her honestly.

She looked at him in shock. "That is it?" Surprise filled her voice at his admission. "That is easy to remedy."

"It is?" Turukáno responded, a question in his voice.

His minstrel looked back at him, smiling. "It is."

* * *

Himlóm took a deep breath as she stepped into the forge. Although it was not a talent she used often, her metal work was beautiful. She laughed to herself. It was odd that she scorned Fëanor and his obsession with his creations so much, when she took so much after his side. She went to work, and her mind began to wander.

Her great vision concerning the fall of Gondolin had only become clearer. There she was, fighting Maeglin, who fell off a cliff. She ran away from that battle, to the overlook where Turukáno had given her Orcist. Idril appeared, carrying a raven-haired elfling, his eyes filled with fear. The both turned to look as a balrog struck Turukáno, who fell off a cliff.

The minstrel turned her attention to her work in time to perfect it. It was a beautiful sword, truly fit for a king. Himlóm forced down the pride that filled her at the sight of it. "It will soon be lost for millennia." She muttered.

"What?" Himlóm jumped as Turukáno himself appeared behind her. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the sword. "That is beautiful." He breathed.

She smiled at his wonder. "It is a gift for you, my lord." She told him. "I presume it is beautiful enough to use." Turukáno looked at her, eyes full of gratitude. "Its name is Glamdring."

* * *

Orcist was making good work. Himlóm knew that the battle would fail, that it would be known forever as Nirnaeth Arnoediad, but she would follow Turukáno, even to death; especially since she knew that Gondolin would last through today.

Taking advantage of a small break in the fighting, she weaved her way through the armies, coming face to face with Celebrimbor. Her cousin looked thin, more stressed after his disownment of their family. He looked relieved at the sight of her. "I'm glad I have some sane relatives left." He quipped.

"Very funny." Himlóm said, sarcastically. "I have something I need to tell you." He nodded at her words, as both of them became serious. "Nargothrond will fall. When Agarwaen son of Úmarth comes to Orodreth, you should leave for the isle of Balar."

"That's his name?"

"Not actually, but that is what he will call himself." Celebrimbor looked relieved, that name was strange even by elvish standards. They both turned around as the sound of fighting got nearer. Himlóm readied Orcist. "The Fëanárions approach." She said. "And Morgoth has come."

Her cousin looked horrified. "This is a trap." He groaned. "They were ready for us the entire time."

The assembled armies watched in horror as the fallen Vala stepped into the clearing. "You dare challenge me!" He roared. Himlóm bowed a goodbye to her cousin, before sneaking back to Turukáno's people. Morgoth hefted up his hammer. "You are all so quiet when you come face to face with. . ."

He was interrupted by an arrow, flying so fast that even he barely dodged. Everyone spun around to see Culwen, at the head of the Fëanorion forces, wielding her massive longbow. The elleth grabbed another arrow from her quiver. "I will not be silent." She hissed.

Another arrow was loosed, and Morgoth let out a cry of rage. Culwen ran to meet him, running circles around the Vala, shooting off arrows. Himlóm felt admiration for her brave aunt, who would not win this fight, and knew it. "I know what will become of you." Culwen said. "In my time, you are a tale told to children to frighten them."

"Lies!" Morgoth raised his hammer, as Culwen paused beside him. She reached again for an arrow, but her hand grasped empty air. Her face flicked with something (fear, regret, resignation) Himlóm did not know, as she realized that her arrows were all spent.

Himlóm looked away as the hammer swung down; she knew there would be no escape. The Magloriel only heard Curufin's pained cry at his wife's death, her uncle's agony ripping through the battlefield. Turukáno turned to his people. "Run!" The king yelled. "This battle is over."

* * *

The court of Turukáno was in turmoil. There had been rumors that a man had entered the hidden city. Only Himlóm was calm, sipping a cup of tea in the middle of the chaos. It was made worse by the absence of Turukáno, who had gone to observe the security of their borders.

"Did you know he was coming?" Glorfindel came up from behind her. The golden-haired elf had long since recovered; he had fought so valiantly that Turukáno had named him a lord, of the House of the Golden Flower.

"Yes." Himlóm responded quietly. "I have known for a long time." At that moment Voronwë entered, closely followed by a tall being, with sandy-brown hair. Itarillë and Maeglin went out to meet the pair. Himlóm leaned over to Ecthelion. "I'll bet you Orcist that Itarillë ends up with the man."

"No one is crazy enough to bet against you." Her friend responded, as Maeglin's angry voice became clear. "But perhaps someone should help him."

Himlóm sighed, before gliding over to the group. "Is there a problem?" She asked calmly.

Maeglin spun around to face her. "This fool," He said, gesturing to a terrified Voronwë, "Has led a stranger into Gondolin."

"Neither you nor I were born here." The elleth reminded him. At this, Maeglin's eyes filled with rage. He stepped forward so the two of them were face to face.

"What did you say?" He growled. The court was silent now, everyone watching the pair. Voronwë ran off, and Itarillë dragged the man to a safe distance.

Himlóm met his gaze. "I said the truth." She replied coldly. The pair stared at each other, both unwilling to make the first move. Turukáno walked in then. He ran up to the confrontation.

"What is going on here?" He yelled, angry.

Maeglin turned to face his uncle. "She insulted my mother!"

"I did nothing of the sort." Himlóm shot back. "I only reminded him that neither of us was born here. How that happened is," She paused, "Complicated. But any insults were completely imagined."

Turukáno sighed at their protests. He ignored both of them, as Himlóm went back to her tea. Maeglin followed him, as he went up to the man. "You are from Ulmo?" The king asked. The man nodded, silent in his awe of the elvish king. "What is your name?"

"I am Tuor."

* * *

"I have only had bad visions as of late." Himlóm sighed at Itarillë's proclamation. The minstrel carefully picked up her friend's son, dear Eärendil. He was not old at all in Himlóm's great vision, so she knew the fall of Gondolin would be soon. There was sadness beyond measure in knowing that her home would soon fall. Itarillë noticed her sadness. "You know something; you have seen something."

Himlóm nodded. Itarillë breathed a sigh a relief. Knowing that another felt what she felt took a load off of her shoulders. "I will build an exit." Itarillë proclaimed. "A secret one, so we can escape from the destruction."

"That would be wise." Her friend responded. Idril nodded. She took her son again, and began to leave. "Itarillë," Himlóm called. The lady of Gondolin turned back, surprised. "Build it quick."

* * *

Himlóm let out a sigh. She had agreed to meet Maeglin just outside the hidden city, on the day of the Gates of Summer. Missing the festivities was a grand sacrifice, and Maeglin hadn't even bothered to come on time. She looked out, and her heart stopped.

There was a great army, of orcs and balrogs, marching for Gondolin. It was led by a Maia. It was that day that Himlóm Magloriel first saw Sauron, who would one day slay her. She knew that she would never forget that it was he that led the armies against Gondolin. And she heard someone come to stand beside her.

"They should have made me heir." Maeglin said, coldly, as he watched Morgoth's armies march on his hometown.

"You are insane." Maeglin glared at the minstrel of Gondolin. And the warning bells of Gondolin rang out. Himlóm swung Orcist at her king's nephew, and began driving him backwards. She knew how this would end. Maeglin countered her, and the two began fighting, dangerously close to the edge.

"I only want power." The dark-eyed elf growled. "What is wrong about that?" Then his eyes filled with fear, as he took one step too far. He let out a scream as he fell to his death. Himlóm's eyes filled with grief.

"There is no power," She whispered, "Only illusions of it." She ran away, to the overlook where Turukáno had given her Orcist. Gondolin, beautiful Gondolin, was on fire, overrun by orcs and balrogs. Itarillë appeared behind her, carrying raven-haired Eärendil, his eyes filled with fear. "We need to evacuate!" Himlóm yelled to her friend. "We have been betrayed!" Itarillë nodded, then her eyes widened. Himlóm spun around, just in time to see a balrog striking Turukáno, who fell off a cliff, too far to survive.

Itarillë let out a sob at her father's death, but Himlóm was filled with rage. And she began to sing. Their allies gained new power at her voice, and their enemies grew weak and tired. Finally, she faced the balrog who had felled Turukáno. She fought it, its fiery whip against Orcist. The battle was long, but finally she slew it. But she looked around, and knew that Gondolin had fallen.

The minstrel of Gondolin let out one last verse, before fleeing the city as well; another of her great visions fulfilled.

The survivors ran as fast as possible, just trying to get away from their former home. Himlóm was filled with relief at the sight of the others. Itarillë looked back at her. "Where is Maeglin?" The lady asked, concerned despite her hatred of him, for her cousin.

"He is dead." Himlóm responded curtly. She sighed. "He was the traitor." Itarillë's eyes filled with regret, as she tried to comfort Eärendil through her own grief. And a scream rose from the back of the group.

There was a balrog, clothed in fire. Glorfindel, who had brought up the rear, turned to face it. And Himlóm saw what was to come. She looked at the sky, at Thorondor circling above it all, and closed her eyes. The death of Glorfindel she did not see, though she looked as Thorondor brought his body up.

The refugees fled far, as far as they could. Eventually they could flee no more, and stopped for a short rest. And she sang her song of grief for the second time that had been first at the death of Alatatir. She saw that she would sing it once more before the end of her days.


	5. It is the Stars

"Orcist was once his mother's?" Gimli was shocked at the realization. Never before had the dwarves wondered about the origins of the sword Thorin found.

Galadriel laughed. "No doubt you caused quite the stir," Her eyes were filled with mischief, "Wandering into the Mirkwood with the sword of its queen. I imagine that it rather helped your cause, though."

"Helped our cause?" Gimli asked, confused.

"Elvish swords are loyal." Celeborn explained. "The more powerful the elf, the more the effect on the sword, and Himlóm was very powerful. Orcist would not have obeyed one its mistress would not have respected. The Mirkwood elves knew that, and that got you respect."

Gimli looked in shock at Celeborn. "That was respect?"

Legolas scoffed. "You really think that we leave prisoners alone long enough to plan an escape, and we talk about the only way to escape around prisoners, and we let hobbits with magic rings wander around?"

"When you put it like that." Gimli admitted. "But wouldn't Orcist belong to your family, then?"

Aragorn nodded. "After Thorin's death it was claimed by the eldest child of Thranduil, his daughter, Ranrûth. She didn't care enough to claim it when Thorin was still alive, though."

"It is good that she is so apathetic." Legolas commented. "She lives in Imladris, an advisor to Elrond. If she had claimed it then, the party of dwarves and one hobbit may not have survived the trip to the Lonely Mountain."

"Why does a daughter of the King of the Mirkwood live in Rivendell?" Pippin asked innocently.

Legolas, Celeborn, and Aragorn all exchanged panicked looks. Galadriel was unfazed. "That comes later in the story," She told them calmly, "And it is of no real relevance, except as a small mention."

"That's too bad." Sam commented.

"No, it's not." Aragorn told them with great enthusiasm. "That story makes this one seem fun and cheery."

"Speaking of the story," Galadriel said, drawing everyone's attention, "After the fall of Gondolin, the survivors conferred amongst themselves."


	6. A Tide in the Affairs

"We have two choices now." Himlóm's voice drew them all out of their grief. "We can go to Sirion, with the people of Elwing, or to Balar with Círdan and Gil-galad, who I'm pretty sure, is now high king of the exiled Noldor."

Itarillë and Tuor thought long; and decided to go to Sirion. At this Himlóm shook her head. "I will not go there." She announced. "I have heard that Elwing possesses a silmarils. Not only to I detest the thought of being near my grandfather's folly, they are unlikely to trust the daughter of a Fëanorion."

Itarillë nodded sadly, and the two friends parted. They would not meet for a very long time.

* * *

"The ocean is beautiful," Himlóm commented to herself. In the end, no one had come with her, the other unwilling to leave their king's daughter. She could not resist adding, "Too bad it will be the destruction of this beautiful city."

"Such tidings from a stranger," She jumped as the elves walked up to her. The eldest was the one to speak to her, the younger not quite having come of age.

Himlóm gracefully turned to face them. "I have darker tidings, from the past instead of the future."

"You are a messenger, then?" The younger elf asked. "From where? I do not recognize you." He stepped forward curiously, to be stopped by the older elf. "Círdan," He complained, "There is no need to protect me."

"I recognize a descendent of Fëanor when I see one, Gil-galad." Círdan's keen eyes looked her over. "The Magloriel, if I am not mistaken."

Himlóm scoffed. "Do not pretend that matters to you, you took in my cousin, Celebrimbor. I have not lived with the Fëanorions for many centuries. My news is not that, for no grief of theirs is truly new. I bring word from Gondolin."

Gil-galad gasped. "Is something ill with my uncle?" Himlóm met his worrying eyes.

"The hidden city is fallen," She announced, "Betrayed by one of its own. And Turukáno is dead." Círdan closed his eyes in silent mourning. Turning to Gil-galad, she continued. "You are now the high king of the exiled Noldor." A smile crept onto her face. "And your rule will last an age."

* * *

Himlóm froze in surprise. For half a second, she had thought that Tuor had walked into the halls of Gil-galad. She soon corrected herself, after a better look. "You know them?" She heard Círdan's voice from behind her. The elleth was now chief advisor of Gil-galad, trusted despite the actions of her family. Even so, she had looked carefully at the delicate elf beside him, at the two little elflings in her arms.

"He is Eärendil." Himlóm responded quietly. "She must be Elwing; I had heard rumors that they had married. The twins must be their sons, Elrond and Elros."

Círdan glanced at her. "You do not want them to know you are here?"

"Is that a question?"

"Eärendil respects you; you are a dear friend of his mother."

"Elwing does not. I see it; already the silmaril has begun to consume her. Only the Valar can remove her desire now."

"You fear the silmaril." That was not a question. Himlóm looked at him.

"I fear the oath that binds me to them," She responded coldly, "And that has taken the honor of my family. It will bind us here, paying the debt for ages."

"What a burden you bear, prophetess."

"Prophetess," She laughed, "That one is new. Of all my titles, that is the vaguest. All of this, just because I can see the future." The pair began walking across the balcony. "It is not as hard as most think, some things are inevitable. Once they happen, you can see that there was no other way." They walked in silence.

"He wants to sail." Himlóm looked at Círdan, surprised. "Eärendil wants to find his parents, and appeal to the Valar. We cannot stand for much longer against Morgoth."

The elleth shook her head, disgusted. "Idril and Tuor do not wish to be found, and he cannot do it. The Valar must be summoned, yes, but," She hesitated, "The Fëanorions will soon come for the silmaril. Elwing will not give it up; its hold on her is too great. Sirion will fall to the people of Fëanor. The twins will forever be lost to him."

Círdan nodded. Even he could see that it was only a matter of time. "You cannot dissuade him from this choice."

"I know." She said quietly. "I will not try. I am not meant to; I cannot change this. But he could. And in the future, I will not forget it." Círdan remained silent. It was likely that one day he would agree with her. "Soon my parting words will become true." Himlóm said, half to herself. "And the people of Fëanor will be no more."

"I am sorry." Círdan told her, honestly. "No one deserves a fate like that."

"I am sorry too." She responded. "But that will change nothing."

* * *

Himlóm rode as fast as she could. She had a horrible premonition during council that morning, and had run out, riding as fast as she could since then. It was time for the people of Fëanor to finally meet the doom that awaited them. But she was here for a reason.

Despite her self-imposed exile, Himlóm still felt strangely happy as she rode into her father and uncle's camp. It was odd to ride in; with people she had grown up with. Her parting words had been heeded, as the people saw her they begun to arm themselves. Finally, she came before her father.

Maglor's eyes filled with emotion as he watched his daughter approach. "I am so sorry." He said, his voice faltering with shame.

"You were not yourself." Himlóm replied. She took a deep breath. "They are coming."

As she spoke, alarm horns rang out, and the fighting began. Maglor turned to his daughter. "You have come for the twins." She nodded.

"You are their father, but you cannot defend two children with only your brother." Her eyes were filled with apology. "They will be welcomed by Gil-galad."

Her father nodded, as he begun leading her through the winding halls. "You have been with Círdan then, this whole time?"

"Mostly in Gondolin, actually." She corrected him.

"I thought Turgon gave me an odd look, last time I saw him."

Himlóm laughed, with the sound ringing out through the halls. She began to sing then, keeping all orcs away with her power.

"Here," Maglor threw open a door, to reveal the raven-haired twins, who looked up with identical expressions of surprise.

"Dad!" One of the two flung himself into Maglor's arms. Himlóm stood back from the greeting, smiling nostalgically. The twins certainly took after Eärendil in appearance. By now he was hugging both of his adopted sons.

Maedhros appeared at the door. "You must go now, niece. We will not stand for much longer." Maglor released the twins. He put one hand on the twin that had hugged him first.

"This is Elros." He explained. "And this is Elrond." Himlóm nodded. Her father bent down to look both of his sons in the eye. "This is your sister, Himlóm. You will go with her now, and listen to her." The sound of fighting appeared in the hallway. Maglor turned to his daughter. "Keep them safe." He begged.

"I will." She vowed, before sweeping them out of the room. The three ran through the building, back to where she had told her horse to wait. The faithful mare had not moved, ignoring the approaching orc armies. She hauled Elros onto the horse, ignoring his protests that he could do it himself. Then something caught her eye.

Lying on the ground, dead, was Camdú; faithful Malomë, who had cared for Glorfindel when Himlóm could not. The elleth stifled a sob as she thought not just of all the friends here that were now dead, but also in beautiful Gondolin. An orc burst into the clearing, disturbing her reverie. The minstrel of Gondolin grabbed the last Peredhil, before jumping on her horse behind Elros. "Run!" She commanded it, and thus it was that the adopted sons of the remaining Fëanorions left their new home.

But looking back on the remnants of what had once been her home, the Magloriel was filled with grief. And as she rode away, she sang her song of grief for the last time; secretly relieved that she would not feel this grief again.

The children waited quietly for her to finish her song. Elrond looked up at her with wide eyes. "Where are we going?" He asked. Himlóm looked at him, and knew that his life would be full of misery, that all happiness would be tempered by sadness. His brother would not suffer like her would, although Elros would die a mortal death.

But the chief advisor of Gil-galad knew what must be done. "We are going to your cousin's kingdom," She replied, soothingly, "To Balar, with Gil-galad and Círdan."

"What is it like?" That was Elros. Himlóm smiled, and spent the rest of the trip singing of her new home. It was a beautiful song, filled with descriptions of places, people, and things. She rode without stop, to her destination

By the time they arrived Elrond was asleep in her arms, and Elros barely conscious. Himlóm quietly put her horse in the stables, before carrying both elflings to a spare room. She tucked them both in, then walked swiftly to the throne room, where she knew that Gil-galad would be, holding court with all of his advisors. The yelling was audible for quite a while.

Himlóm slipped into the room beside Círdan. "What are they fighting about?" She asked him curiously.

He rolled his eyes. "I lost track a long time ago. Where have you been?"

"I visited my father." She responded, before walking into the centre of the room. Everyone's eyes went to her. "Gil-galad," The eyes of the king snapped to her, somewhat guiltily. The young king had stopped listening to his advisors a long time before, "I have brought the Eärendilion."

"I thought they were killed when Sirion fell." Círdan commented, sounding amused. Himlóm turned to look at him.

"Funny how these things work out." She agreed, mildly.

* * *

Himlóm groaned as the thunderstorm raged outside. She threw a pillow over her head, but to no avail. It was impossible to get any sleep with the weather. Suddenly, she heard light footsteps approaching her door. She started to get up, when there was another crash from the lightning. There was a small cry outside her door, before the little twins burst in, sobbing.

The elleth bent down to pick the elflings up. "What is it, little ones?" She asked.

"The sky is thundering," Elros told her, "What if the building falls down?"

"It won't," She promised, "It has survived in many storms, some worse than this. In any case, this was all built by Círdan. In all likelihood, it can float too." The twins fell silent at that, until Elrond looked up at her.

"Gil-galad said that you and grandmother were friends." Himlóm nodded, smiling as she remembered lively Idril. Elrond hesitated. "He also said you didn't like Eärendil." She winced at that. She had hoped that the twins wouldn't hear about her strong feelings about their father."

"I," She said carefully, "Disagree with certain things that he has done. That is something I cannot deny. Eärendil did have his reasons though. You do not have to respect him as your father, but you should respect him for the things he has done."

* * *

Himlóm sighed as the advisors of Gil-galad bickered. Círdan had cleverly gotten an excuse to skip this meeting. Elrond was there, his calming influence greatly helping Gil-galad. However, Elros was with the men again, and Elrond's worry about his brother was not helping the mood of the meeting. The chief advisor shook her head, worried about her adopted brothers. She looked wistfully out the window, before letting out a cry of shock.

Elrond rushed to her side. "What is wrong?" He asked, urgently.

"Do you see it?" She asked him. Her slender arm gestured frantically at a point in the sky.

"A star?" Gil-galad asked, squinting at the place where she was gesturing. Himlóm shook her head.

"Does that look like a star to you?" She demanded. Everyone looked carefully at the bright light gleaming in the sky.

Elrond gasped. "It is a silmaril!" He cried. The other advisors looked at the Peredhil in shock, before turning their eyes to the sky.

"It is the silmaril taken from the crown of Morgoth by Beren and Lúthien, and brought for purification to the Valar themselves by Elwing and Eärendil." Himlóm announced. "They have appealed to the Valar; help will come, as soon as possible." The advisors cheered, leaving to spread the news, and to not hear the doom their prophetess would next foretell. In the end, only Gil-galad and Himlóm remained.

Himlóm looked at the sky, the silmaril giving her face an unearthly glow. "The oath of the Fëanor is lessened." She remarked. "Now one silmaril is for all to see. It will not be long now until all the silmarils will be dealt with." The Magloriel shook her head, filled with anguish. "Grandfather's folly does not seem such folly anymore. I wish with all my heart that I had never seen it. I have too much of his blood in me." She tore her gaze away from the sky. "If the silmarils were my creations, would I not have made the same choices as him? Seeing that," She gestured to it once more, "I think not."

"The silmaril is gone, where none here can touch it." Gil-galad spoke now, trying to calm his agitated friend.

"Only one is gone." Himlóm said mournfully. "And I see that I am not done with the silmarils before all is done. There is a choice I still have to make."

* * *

The Maia led the group. Most of the elves from Valinor had chosen to stay by the boats, but some had come with Gil-galad to discuss the coming war. Himlóm went to meet the delegation. Even the calm elleth wouldn't fight the flash of emotion on her face at their approach. Despite complicated emotions, she still bowed respectfully at them. "Welcome." She said.

Eönwë returned her bow, the same caution in his eyes. "A pleasure, Magloriel," She gave him a look, a challenge in her eyes. Even cheerful Gil-galad had fallen silent at the sight of the confrontation. "That is no insult." He reminded her.

"The way that you said it, it was." The elleth shot back. The prophetess and Maia looked at each other for several long moments, before one of the Valinor elves tackled Himlóm to the ground. Himlóm let out a groan; fixing her assailant with a piercing gaze. "Way to ruin the moment, Itarillë."

Itarillë, still laughing, helped her friend up. "You are so serious."

"And you have forgotten why." Itarillë looked at her friend in alarm. Himlóm put a slender finger to her mouth. "Later." She whispered. The chief advisor turned to face the group. "What other surprises are here?" She said, teasingly. The delegates who had not previously met her exchanged looks of surprise.

"How did you know?" One asked curiously.

Gil-galad laughed. "There is not much she doesn't know. She is my chief advisor for a reason." Himlóm gave him a look. He winced. "I mean that in the most respectful, diplomatic way."

"You shouldn't just admit that last part." Himlóm scolded. "It should be clear in the way you speak." She sighed. "Valar have mercy on us."

Gil-galad flushed. "I'm not good at diplomatic stuff." He protested. "If you don't want insulted people, you shouldn't bring me, you should bring El-" Himlóm shamelessly pushed her king to the floor. The Valinor elves looked very confused, except for a few.

"Himlóm," Tuor said, carefully, "My grandsons are dead, right?" The elleth could not hide her discomfort with the question.

"Was there not something else you wanted to show me?" She asked, skillfully changing the subject. Itarillë gave her a suspicious look. Even so, the elves drew back to reveal a golden-haired ellon, smiling sheepishly. "Glorfindel!" Himlóm cried, her joy at the return of her cousin's son too great to hide. The two elves embraced. "I am so happy to see you!" She exclaimed. "And stop almost dying."

"It only happened twice," Glorfindel protested, "And I didn't almost die, I did die. There's a difference." Himlóm rolled her eyes.

Beside Glorfindel was a Maia, with the form of an old man. The minstrel of Gondolin turned to him. "O powerful one," She said, a faint smile on her lips, "You have fought for the return of my cousin's son. That is a favor I will not soon forget. Mithrandir I will call you, and you will always be welcome among the scattered remains of my family, if you should wish to be associated with the people of Fëanor."

"It would be an honor." The grey wizard responded. "And the one who has gotten your wrath is in the shipyard." Himlóm gave him a grateful nod, before rushing off.

She had not gone far before she heard footsteps following her. Spinning around, she met the gaze of an angry Itarillë. "Who are you angry at?" The Lady of Gondolin was insistent. "What are you hiding about my grandsons?" Himlóm opened her mouth to answer her friend, but stopped as alarm bells rang out through Balar.

"We are under attack." The chief advisor hissed. Itarillë looked at her in horror.

"Now?"

Himlóm glared at her friend. "We are at war."

* * *

The minstrel of Gondolin drifted around her room, preparing to go to sleep. Yawning, she hoped that nothing else would happen. However, there was a knock at her door. "Come in!" She called; jumping in surprise as Itarillë opened her door.

Her friend tipped her head, confused. "Were you expecting someone else?" Itarillë asked. Himlóm rolled her eyes.

"Do you want something?" She asked. Itarillë gave her a look.

"What's going on?" The Turukániel fixed her friend with a piercing gaze, looking very much her father's daughter. "What are you hiding?"

The Magloriel sighed. "It is those silmarils." She said. "They are the cause of everything. Ever since that one appeared in the sky; I have been unable to sleep. It is the subject of my thought far too often, and of my dreams. All of this for those silly jewels, and I understand it now."

"So that was the real reason you did not wish to go to Sirion." Itarillë mused, before shaking her head. "So that is why you are so uncomfortable; you blame my son for that."

"That too," Himlóm admitted, "But I blame Eärendil for something more important." She paused as soft footsteps appeared outside the door, followed by frantic knocking. Itarillë looked confused, but Himlóm merely sighed. "Come in!"

The door swung open, and a slender figure slipped in. He started. "I didn't know you had someone here." The elf apologized. Himlóm shook her head.

"You can knock on my door anytime." She reminded him. "I did not expect you tonight though. Wasn't Elros here for once?"

The young raven-haired elf shook his head. "He is here, but the nightmares still came."

Himlóm looked concerned, but looked quickly at Itarillë. "Elrond," She said carefully, "This is your grandmother, Itarillë." Itarillë and Elrond both looked in surprise at each other, before Elrond slowly backed out of the room. The elleths looked at each other. "That went better than I thought it would." Himlóm commented snidely.

"This isn't funny." Itarillë hissed at her friend.

Himlóm looked calmly back at her. "It was inevitable." She drifted over to the window. "And you should be lucky it wasn't Elros."

* * *

"You could come see me, cousin." The two figures walked through the garden under the night sky. "One would think that you were avoiding me."

"I am avoiding you." Himlóm turned to face her cousin. "No one would trust the children of the Fëanorions together, especially since Sirion."

"No one trusts me." Celebrimbor admitted. "I am too much like Grandfather. You are like your mother; everyone respects you, even without knowing who your other grandfather is." He gasped as the realization hit him, turning to face the slender elleth. "You feel it too?"

"The call of the silmarils," The pair looked up, to the star of Eärendil. "Fëanor will be the death of both of us."

"You see it?" Celebrimbor looked at her with curiosity.

"I do." Himlóm's eyes were filled with pain. "It will take a while, but it will. Perhaps not even by things he has wrought, but the gifts he has passed on."

The Curufinion chuckled. "By gifts you mean, I assume, our pride and skill at creation." The prophetess nodded. "That is no great surprise. The Valar are not done with our family yet, that is clear."

Himlóm laughed her agreement. "Especially when they see what happens to the rest of the silmarils."

"It is almost over then?"

"This part."

* * *

Himlóm, to her great displeasure, found herself standing beside Eönwë at the end. She watched as Morgoth, still screeching his fury, was captured in Aulë's best chains. The fallen Vala struggled relentlessly against his bonds. His hate-filled eyes swept over the watching crowd.

The elves cautiously formed a large circle around him, unwilling to leave any chance of escape. It was time, finally time, for Morgoth to receive punishment. The minstrel of Gondolin jumped as four Maiar appeared out of nowhere to surround him. "The court of the Valar," She murmured.

Eönwë looked at her. "Indeed," He said, "Four Maiar who serve no lord, for they proclaim the justice of Eru, and must not be biased."

He pointed first at two Maiar. They were twins, both with the same silky black hair and piercing black eyes, one male and one female. "They are the Lamesquen, who proclaim justice and enforce oaths. It was they that made sure of your family's payment for the oath."

"His crimes are innumerable." The twins spoke as one, voices filled with rage. "He has desolated this land. He has tormented all races for far too long. The rightful punishment would be banishment into the void, forever this time." They met Morgoth's gaze, as he looked furious at their proclamation. "That is what justice demands."

Into the utter silence that followed that statement, Eönwë gestured to the next Maia. A slender female, with long auburn hair and bright blue eyes, stood there. "She is Zyphe." Eönwë whispered. "She speaks of mercy, and protects captives. Your uncle Maitimo was once under her protection, and she managed to protect his life."

Zyphe stood silent for a long time, looking at the ground. "He deserves no mercy." She said finally. "This is what he has chosen to do with his second chance, to cause all of this." Even Morgoth flinched at the anger flaming in her eyes. "That is what mercy pleads."

"I'm not surprised." Eönwë commented. "She has suffered greatly due to Morgoth." The herald turned to face the last Maia, a male with dark brown hair and black eyes. He had been the only one not to react to Zyphe's proclamation. "He is Beya, the judge. He decides the sentence, and defends justice."

"This is the first time," Beya began, "In all of my life that Zyphe and the Lamesquen have agreed, and it is definitely the first time that I have agreed with one of them." He raised his voice, so that all could hear him. "For his many crimes, Morgoth, who was once called Melkor, will be cast into the void until the end of time."

* * *

The Magloriel anxiously paced the camp. All were celebrating the defeat of Morgoth, except Himlóm. She had volunteered to stay back, and watch the camp. The only thing that required watching, though, was them. She crept over to the ornate chest; she could feel the power radiating from it. Inside were the remaining silmarils, the greatest creations of her grandfather.

The others thought that it would be over; that even the Fëanorions would not dare to cross the Valar. Himlóm knew better. They would fulfill their oath, weeping as they did actions they always regretted. Maglor and Maedhros would come, they had no choice. She was not the only one to know this. Elrond, ever loyal to his foster father, was on guard tonight. Waiting, as she was, for them to come.

"Himlóm," The minstrel of Gondolin turned at her father's voice. Her eyes filled with tears at her father and uncle; how far everything had gone. But she knew what must be done.

"Here," She picked up the chest with the silmarils, thrusting it at the Fëanorions.

Maedhros looked at her, eyes wide. "You will get in serious trouble. Why are you doing this, niece?"

"Because then it will be over." Himlóm said, longingly. "The oath will be done." Her father took the chest from her, his hands shaking with emotion. "But beware," She cautioned, "The oath was not the only thing done; payment must still be made for the crimes that have been committed. If you should live, you will not be free.

"If you should live?" Maedhros asked nervously. "How questionable is that 'if'?"

Himlóm ignored him. "The payment must be made, for the one that remains to return to Valinor, and the ones that have died to leave the halls of Mandos. But it will not be made by you. It will be made in the ages to come, by your children and grandchildren." She looked gravely at them. "That is my proclamation."

Maglor nodded sadly, for he knew too well the accuracy of her proclamations. He gently hugged his daughter. "Take care of the twins." He said softly. The chief advisor of Gil-galad nodded; so much would change, the pair would need all the support they could get.

Her eyes followed the last Fëanorions out of the camp, before snapping back to the entrance as she heard a pained cry. Elrond. Himlóm ran to the entrance, in time to see the Peredhil get thrown to the ground by an angry Maia. A furious Elros was being held back by Círdan and Gil-galad. The Magloriel let out an angry hiss.

"I would hope," She said, glaring at Eönwë, "That the Valar do not endorse the attacking of other's advisors in ordinary situations."

"He let the Fëanorions in." The herald responded mildly.

Himlóm met his gaze. "I was the one who gave them the silmarils." She said, with a challenge in her voice.

"Why?"

"Because it is the start of the end of this." Everyone looked in surprise as the elleth who had spoken stepped forward. Her blond hair and shining eyes revealed her as one of the first to awaken. She carried no weapon, only a small basin of water. Eönwë sighed.

"Aelinelen," The herald began, "You were not given leave to come here."

"Manwë only ever told me to stay away from Finwë." Aelinelen responded calmly. "Being that he is dead, that is not as much of a restriction as it once was. In any case, you have spent some time in a staring contest with my granddaughter; it appears that my help is needed."

Himlóm looked in amazement at the elleth. "Grandmother?" She asked, shocked.

The Vanyar elleth smiled. "Yes, though I suppose it is Nerdanel who most rejoiced at your existence, that there is finally a woman of her blood." The assembled elves all agreed, for the wife of Fëanor had borne seven sons, but no daughters. "I have come because this is my fault." Aelinelen continued.

"Your fault?" Círdan asked. "Surely we all carry the same burden of guilt?"

She shook her head. "If only that were true." Her voice was sad, laden with untold burdens. "I was once the advisor of Finwë, for as the eldest of the firstborn, my wisdom was unmatched, and my skill incomprehensible. But my relationship with Míriel was complicated. After her death, too many things were left unsaid. People grew apart."

Eönwë sighed. "Your words are too true," He remarked, "Especially after Finwë remarried."

Aelinelen nodded. "One day, Fëanor and Finwë had a terrible fight. I took the side of Fëanor, and Finwë saw that as a betrayal. We began to fight, about things that should have been forgotten." Her eyes filled with regret. "I lost my temper. I cursed the line of Finwë, so that they should not rest as long as my curse lasts."

All assembled fell quiet, as they processed what the elleth had revealed to them. Himlóm stepped forward, fixing her grandmother with a piercing gaze. "Do you regret it?"

Aelinelen looked up. "Of course I regret it!" She responded; her voice filled with shock. "I regretted it the moment Finwë left. The house of Finwë is my family, in a way. Because of this curse, it has collapsed, its members scattered. Even Maitimo is now dead, and Makalaurë will spend ages atoning for what has happened."

"Maedhros is dead?" Elrond asked, quietly. He had recovered from the earlier attack, and was now looking desperately at Himlóm.

Himlóm sighed, for she could only confirm his fears. "The last silmarils are now gone forever, they will be claimed by no one." She said.

"The price has been paid?" There was a question in Círdan's voice, a caution. He sighed as Aelinelen shook her head.

"It will not be paid for many years," She gestured to the basin in her arms, "I have seen it in the water. It will be ages until the house of Finwë is redeemed, in another war, against another foe. And when they are redeemed," A smile flickered on her face, a reminder of past joys, "I will apologize to Finwë, and the curse shall be undone."

"Can it not be broken sooner?" That was Celebrimbor. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

Aelinelen sighed. "There is not." She admitted regretfully. Turning now to Celebrimbor, she continued. "Beware, Curufinion, of visitors bearing gifts; for not all apologies are true, and not all evil is immediately apparent." With that, the elleth swept into the crowd, soon disappearing within their midst.

"I still haven't been able to find out how she does that." Galadriel commented regretfully.

Círdan looked at Himlóm. "You take after your mother's side." He told her. She rolled her eyes.


	7. In Thy Need

"The Peredhil have made their choice." Himlóm looked up at Mithrandir. The wizard and she had become fast friends, and he had sought her out at the news. He sat down beside her. "I did not expect to find you here."

Himlóm scowled. She was in her cousin's forge; Celebrimbor had left to conference with Gil-galad, and had not minded her using it. She looked back at her work. "I do not advertise my skill; it seems unadvisable that I should be connected to Fëanor in any way."

Mithrandir looked curiously at her. "Do not deny your family." He scolded her. "Embrace your heritage. They have done terrible things, but they also have done wonderful things, and helped a lot of people."

The Magloriel smirked at him. "Like Mairon once did?"

The Maia winced. "You know then." There was defeat in his voice, shame.

"That you and that arrogant herald, Eönwë, are brothers?" Himlóm turned away from her work to look at him, "Or that your youngest brother was the lieutenant of Morgoth?"

"Sauron served Morgoth." Mithrandir replied, defensively. "Mairon was my brother." He sighed. "I don't even believe that anymore. Mairon went with Morgoth willingly; I should have prevented his corruption."

Himlóm let out an irritated groan. "Stop blaming yourself." She hissed. "You did everything you could. Even now you stay, in hope that you can save him before the end."

Eyes wide, he looked at her. "Is that wrong?"

"No." She responded; her voice gentle. "I saw his eyes; they are filled with fear. When Sauron fears Morgoth no more, you will once again have your brother." The prophetess turned to him. "Do not give up hope, no matter what happens."

The two fell silent then, lost in their thoughts. Mithrandir sighed. "The Peredhil have made their choice."

"I know." The Magloriel revealed her work, now completed. It was a beautiful sword, well-forged and powerful. Mithrandir raised his eyebrows.

"That is astonishing." He commented.

Himlóm looked at him. "A work worthy of the house of Fëanor," She commented slyly. Turning back to her sword, she continued, "This is Narsil." The sword glittered in the sun, as she triumphantly held it up. "It will be a gift for Elros, to be passed through his house."

"It is a worthy gift," The wizard commented, "Fit for a king."

"He is a king." Himlóm said, smiling. "And this is one of my two great swords, as great as Glamdring."

Mithrandir looked closer at Narsil. "Pity Glamdring was lost in the fall of Gondolin." He commented.

"Pity." The minstrel of Gondolin repeated with a knowing smile.

* * *

Himlóm swept through the streets, footsteps silent under the night sky. Her eyes were filled with grief. She was almost running, as if drawn by a call that no one else could hear. Cursing the vastness of the city, she finally reached the grand palace.

Inside was weeping, as even the men realized what was happening. The chief advisor of Gil-galad walked past the group, not even being noticed by the distraught family. She walked through the halls, to a beautiful wooden door. A weak "Come in." came from the room as she knocked firmly on it. Himlóm slipped silently into the room.

On the bed was Elros, now greatly aged. Himlóm let out a cry, running to his side. "I should have known you would come." He grumbled, but relief was in his voice.

"I would not let you die without saying goodbye." She responded. "Your family is not just here; do not forget your roots."

"I will never forget." Elros closed his eyes. They both sat in silence. "Will Elrond be all right?"

The Magloriel smiled. She stood up, going to open the window. Above the city was the sky, scattered with stars gazing over the peaceful city. They both looked to one particular light. "It's so strange," Himlóm sighed, "That those jewels, so unassuming, can affect the fate of so many people."

Elros only nodded. "I am dying." He told her, hesitantly.

"I know."

"What of my brother?"

"He will be all right." The chief advisor of Gil-galad turned to smile at him. "It will be hard for a while, but we will support him. It's not like it will be forever; one day Arda will be remade.

The king gave her a smile, filled with gratitude at her comforting words. "Thank you, sister." He whispered, slipping into sleep.

"You're welcome," She whispered back, "Elros Maglorion."

* * *

Himlóm sighed, deep in yet another dull council meeting. It had only been a few days since she had visited Elros, and he had not yet died. Her eyes flicked over to Elrond, who was looking unusually pale and short of breath. Only she noted his face as he felt his brother's death, only she saw the despair written on his face.

Glorfindel caught him as he sank to the floor, unconscious due to a pain that wasn't his. "Elrond?" Glorfindel said, with concern in his voice. Círdan walked over, and placed a gentle hand against the young Peredhil's face.

"He is too cold." The shipwright announced. "He must be fading."

"That was a quick diagnosis." Gil-galad commented.

"Well, that's what Himlóm told me just now." Everyone turned to look at the prophetess, who smiled.

Gil-galad turned away first. "Fading?" He exclaimed. "Why?"

"Because Elros is dead." Himlóm responded coldly. She walked out of the room, ignoring the general chaos of the court of Gil-galad. Ending up in a distant garden, she raised her eyes to the sky and the stars twinkling in the dark abyss. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the sweet elfling she had once known, who had been her brother.

Her tear-filled eyes caught sight of the star of Eärendil, and she frowned. "Why?" She cried. "Why did you leave? If you had been there, Elros might have made a different choice. Things could have been different." She broke down, sobbing.

Celebrimbor came then, summoned by her shouts. "Is everything all right?" He asked hesitantly. Himlóm looked at him, with a tear-streaked face. They said no more, only her sobbing over his shoulder. The cousins stayed there until sunrise, mourning for another victim of the oath.

* * *

"Eat, little one." Himlóm closed her eyes as she heard Gil-galad begging with Elrond. The ellon had not recovered from his brother's death, a few years earlier. He was quieter, more subdued. Not even Gil-galad could bring a smile upon his face; he only wept. It pained Himlóm to see him so desperate, to hear the rumors that it was only a matter of time until he did fade. She was determined to not let that happen.

The door closed as Gil-galad left, dejected by another failed attempt. Himlóm waited until he had gone down another hallway, before slipping into the room. Elrond was curled up on the bed, shivering despite his many blankets. He looked up as she came in. "Will you also try to comfort me?" The Peredhil asked scornfully. "To try to convince me that it was for the best; that he died happy, so I should not weep?"

The Magloriel shook her head. "I will not." She said, with her voice so soft it could barely be heard. "I just wanted to remind you that you are not the only person to weep for deaths that others do not mourn." Elrond looked up her, confused. "I do not agree with all that my family has done," Himlóm said gently, "But I wept for their deaths all the same."

"I have no family." The ellon whispered.

"You have us. We are like your family; we will always be there for you." Elrond threw himself into Himlóm's arms, sobbing. "It's okay, little one." The minstrel said. "It will all be okay in the end."

* * *

Himlóm stood to Gil-galad's right. His court had assembled to greet the visiting king of Eryn Galen, who had come to discuss policy with Gil-galad. She sighed. Oropher was notoriously difficult to get along with. It was likely to be an exhausting week. The chief advisor looked to Elrond; standing on Gil-galad's other side.

Elrond was slowly recovering from his fading episode, and had been allowed to come. He still looked pale, and Himlóm resolved to keep an eye on him.

Distracted by her thoughts, the elleth jumped as the doors swung open. She put a comforting hand on Gil-galad's shoulder as the arrogant Sindar elf strode in, complaining loudly about some supposed insult. "My lord," She told him, calmly, "I assure you that we hold you in the highest respect. Any insults to you or your house have been entirely unintended."

"They had better be." The king growled. The elleth beside him, his wife, smiled apologetically. Elemmírë was a niece of Ingwë, and former friend of Finwë, who had long ago become estranged with both of them. She had joined the forces of Valinor, and had stayed in Middle earth because of her love of Oropher.

He turned to the elf standing beside him. "This is my heir, Thranduil." Himlóm gasped as she looked at the young elf. She had seen him before, although they had not met. He brought her back to a lonely hallway, and a cousin who was long gone. "Next is not bad, as much as confusing. A Sindarin elf, one I do not know, offers me a ring."

There had been no more to that great vision; everything was simply as it seemed: a peaceful event in her long, dangerous life. She saw, suddenly, that she would have children. It had never occurred to her that she would have a family, that she could have that connection.

She turned her attention to Gil-galad, as the Noldor king stood up to respond. "This is my herald, Elrond." He gestured to his left, and Elrond gave a polite bow. Himlóm bowed in turn as Gil-galad continued, "And this is my chief advisor, Himlóm."

Oropher gave her a doubtful look. "Isn't she. . ."

"One of the descendants of Fëanor," Himlóm told him sharply, "But that matters not, my lord. The oath is gone, and in any case, I was never bound by it." She winced, suddenly realizing who she was speaking to. "I apologize for my words."

Oropher shook his head. "I apologize, I was being unreasonable. It has been a long trip."

"We have dinner prepared." Elrond said. Oropher nodded gratefully, and he and the rest of the party followed the young herald out of the room.

Gil-galad turned to his advisor. "How did you do that?" He asked in awe.

She gave him a smug look. "I have many talents." He gave her a doubtful look. "Turukáno taught me diplomacy a long time ago." The minstrel of Gondolin sighed. "You and your uncle would have gotten along great."

"Really?" Gil-galad asked, with his eyes filled with doubt.

"Without a doubt." She smiled. "Now, let's get to that dinner." The pair walked through the winding halls, going fast. Keeping Oropher waiting was never a good idea, and even Elrond could not keep him contented for long. His good mood would not last.

Gil-galad let out a sigh of relief as they entered the room. Elrond gave them an exhausted smile; Oropher was looking irritated again. Thranduil was obviously embarrassed, standing behind his father, while Elemmírë looked serenely unbothered. Himlóm let out an exasperated sigh. Things were obviously going to be interesting with that delegation.

She looked more closely at Elrond, who only looked paler now. "Come sit down, Elrond." Himlóm said, suddenly worried. The Peredhil nodded, too tired to argue. He had only taken a step toward her when his legs gave out.

Thranduil dived to the floor, barely catching the unconscious elf. Himlóm rushed to his side, gently picking up Elrond's wrist. She turned back to a shocked Gil-galad. "His pulse is okay; I think he just worked too hard." The minstrel got up; then looked back at her king. "Please get out of shock, my lord."

Gil-galad jolted. "Right." He turned to Oropher. "My apologies, he has been in ill health since his brother's death."

Oropher nodded. "It could not be helped, do not apologize." He bent next to his son, and whispered something into Thranduil's ear. Thranduil nodded. Oropher looked back at Gil-galad. "My son can help you; he has another errand to do as well."

Himlóm bowed respectfully to Oropher; then turned to Thranduil. "Can you take him this way, please?" The ellon nodded, and carefully picked Elrond up.

* * *

"I must thank you for your help." Elrond had, as Himlóm had predicted, been fine. Everyone had been threatened into not overworking him again, and Himlóm and Thranduil had been left to make awkward small talk.

Thranduil shook his head. "Anyone would have done it." The two walked down the corridor in silence.

"So," Himlóm began, hesitantly, "You had an errand?"

"Yes!" Thranduil said. "I almost forgot. My knife broke on the trip here; I need to get it repaired."

"I can do that for you." Thranduil looked up at her.

"Really?"

"Think of it as returning a favor." She smiled at him. "Can I see it?" He nodded; then gave her it. Himlóm looked closely at the fracture, before smiling again. "That is easy. I can have it done by tomorrow." She turned to walk away, but Thranduil stopped her.

"Can I watch?" She looked at him, surprised. He flinched; then hesitantly continued. "There are no great smiths back home, but I have always wished to learn more about everything."

The Magloriel laughed. "You wish to learn about everything? That is a tall burden. Feel free to watch me work though, after all, it is your knife."

The pair made their way across town, to the forges. Himlóm stopped next to one, and pounded loudly on the door. "Celebrimbor, I'm coming in." She pushed the door open slowly, to reveal the empty forge. The Magloriel strode into the dark room, before turning to smirk at Thranduil. "Celebrimbor must be courting that elleth again."

Thranduil laughed. "You are close to your cousin, then?" He asked curiously.

She nodded. "We are very close in age, so we grew up together."

"That must be nice." Thranduil followed her into the forge. "I have always been so isolated, because of who my father is."

Himlóm nodded. "I understand that." She started warming up the fire. "People have always judged me because of my family. They do not realize that the people of Fëanor have suffered as well."

"It is clear to me." The minstrel looked in surprise at Thranduil. He shrugged. "To die for an oath you regret is a terrible thing."

"They only did it to protect they needed to protect their father." Himlóm whispered. She sighed, and turned to Thranduil. "You are the first since Turukáno to realize that."

* * *

Himlóm looked in vague interest around the room. It was yet another council meeting. Most of those attending where staring blankly into the distance; a few were probably sleeping. The only unexpected thing was that Celebrimbor and Galadriel were whispering to each other. The two of them usually didn't get along.

Everyone snapped to attention as Galadriel stood up. She turned to face Gil-galad. "My king," She said, "Me and my…" The elleth turned to look at Celebrimbor, obviously trying to find out exactly how they were related, "Celebrimbor and I were talking."

"About what?" Gil-galad sounded eager for a change in the dull meeting.

Galadriel took a deep breath before answering. "We would like permission to leave Lindon, and form a new kingdom."

The councilors immediately began talking amongst themselves. Gil-galad waved them into silence. "Why?" He asked.

The chief advisor of Gil-galad stepped forward. "It doesn't matter why." She insisted. "It is what must happen. It will be called Eregion."

* * *

The minstrel of Gondolin dance through the gardens, singing a happy, lighthearted song. Celebrimbor had gotten married, and the festivities were starting. Her cousin was now prestigious enough, a lord of Eregion after all, to warrant the arrival of dignitaries, including one she was particularly happy to see. She glanced over to a familiar blond ellon.

Thranduil and she had stayed in close contact, sending letters by bird. He was the one person to truly sympathize with her, to try to understand her. Himlóm took a deep breath. "Don't think depressing thoughts." She muttered. "Weddings are supposed to be happy."

"That is a strange rule." Himlóm jumped as Círdan's voice appeared from behind her. He walked forward to join her. "I would think that family gatherings would always be hard for the two of you."

"The house of Fëanor will not be great until it has been redeemed, and the curse of Aelinelen has been lifted." Himlóm sighed. "My father and uncles would have loved this."

"Hey, cousin." Celebrimbor came towards the pair, his bride skipping by his side. Linmenel was energetic and cheerful, the opposite of Himlóm's calm and quiet cousin. The two elleths gave a friendly hug.

"Welcome to the family!" Himlóm said, "Even if it is very unimpressive right now."

Linmenel blushed. "Just don't expect seven sons." The elleth responded, laughing.

* * *

"What are we going to do?" Celebrimbor and Himlóm were bent over the plans. The gates to Moria were going to be a wonderful, a physical representation of the peace between the two kingdoms. There were, however, some important decisions.

Traditionally, the family crest of the makers would go on any creation. The general population would take offence at the star of Fëanor. And that was their problem. Once again, their family's oath was getting in the way.

"You two worry too much." They both spun around at the voice as Narvi walked up to join them. The dwarf glared at them, frustrated by their indecision. "Stop caring about what others say. Put your family crest on if you like; don't let others decide what you do."

Himlóm smiled at the dwarf. "That's really sweet, Narvi. Thank you." He blushed at her compliment, before turning to examine the rest of their plans.

Narvi frowned. "I'm sorry, but did you put the password on the door?"

Celebrimbor shook his head. "My friend, you are mistaken. We didn't just put it on the door, it's very clever."

* * *

"So, it is nice here?" Thranduil walked through the room, looking carefully. Himlóm laughed at his awe. He was visiting Eregion, finally.

"I love it here." Himlóm walked over to join the ellon. "It's a city of trade, where people create things instead of just regulating them."

Thranduil laughed. "That is a problem with Lindon." He turned to look at something. "This is amazing work."

Himlóm gently picked it up. She held it up so he could see better, a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as eyes. "This is older than both of us."

"Really?" Thranduil looked closer at the candlestick.

"It was made by Finwë as a wedding gift for my grandmother, Aelinelen. She gave it to her daughter, who brought it here. When my mother died, she left it to me. I brought it to Gondolin with me."

Thranduil looked at her. "This is old, then." He exclaimed. "But how did it get here, after the fall of Gondolin?"

The minstrel of Gondolin smiled. "Idril brought it out, and gave it to me when she returned from Valinor." She set it back down carefully. "I will not use it until I am married, that is when my mother would have given it to me, in an ideal world."

"This world is definitely not ideal," Himlóm nodded sadly, but Thranduil continued, "However; it is not all bad either." The Magloriel looked curiously at him. She gasped as he pulled out a ring from his pocket. "I realize that Eryn Galen might not be your first choice for a home, and that Oropher will be an awful father-in-law," He began awkwardly, "But I have never met anyone like you. You are amazing, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Himlóm gently shushed his stammering. "I want to spend eternity with you as well." She said, with her voice as soft as the snow. Thranduil gave a wide smile, and the two kissed.

And so it was that the third great vision of the prophetess came to pass.


	8. One Man in His Time

Sorry to make y'all wait so long for such a short chapter. I got distracted *cough* reading fan fiction *cough*. I'll post more of the main story this week, hopefully. Enjoy!

* * *

There was great uproar at the tale as Galadriel stopped. She only smiled against the onslaught of questions.

"Himlóm forged Narsil?" Aragorn yelled.

Boromir was standing now, enraged. "Sauron is Gandalf's brother?"

"Why do men yell so much?" Pippin exclaimed.

Celeborn laughed. "Narsil was one of Himlóm's great works; she truly was a descendent of Fëanor. It greatly upset her to see her sword broken." He told Aragorn.

"What about my question?" Boromir asked, irritated.

Galadriel nodded. "That shocked me too, when she told me the story. In the end, does it matter why he is fighting? To get his brother back, Sauron must be defeated; Himlóm has foretold it. Would you not do the same for Faramir?"

Boromir paused at that; then nodded. "I would do anything for my little brother."

"So would Mithrandir," Galadriel whispered, "And that is a great cost."

"This story is sad, and complicated." Sam complained.

Celeborn smiled sadly. "Most elvish stories are, even the stories set in Valinor."

"Why do you tell the stories then, if they are so sad?" Merry asked.

"We tell stories," Celeborn said, "So we do not make those mistakes again. We tell them to learn, and to not forget our past. It is a good way to keep humble."

"Speaking of stories," Galadriel interjected, "It is time for us to continue ours."


	9. In Ourselves Do Lie

Here is the promised next chapter, enjoy! Remember, just ask me if you have any questions, and feel free to give any constructive criticism.

* * *

Himlóm and Thranduil were married, and she moved once again, to Eryn Galen. She, of Noldor nobility, now lived among the Silvan elves. Even that did not faze her, for she saw all. There was darkness rising, however, and even she could not stop it. It was in those times that I speak of, as she was the wife of Thranduil.

Himlóm let out an irritated sigh as she read Gil-galad's letter. Thranduil looked up at her. "Is everything okay?" He asked, surprised to see his normally calm wife angry. She shook her head.

"Celebrimbor is being an idiot." The elleth muttered. "Letting Annatar into Eregion, it will be the death of us all."

Thranduil nodded. "Your cousin is desperate to show that he is not like Fëanor, by any way. Not that anyone in Eregion would stop him."

She sighed. "He was a Maia of Aulë; he knows many things. The Noldor have always sought knowledge, by any way possible. It is not a good combination." Shaking her head, she got a piece of paper. "I will warn them, but it will matter not." Her voice filled with pain. "The price must still be paid."

Her husband hugged her. "We all know that. Do not worry; your line will be redeemed in the end."

"Hopefully," Himlóm whispered, "It is before our house is gone."

"That would be ideal." Thranduil admitted.

* * *

The Magloriel groaned, turning over restlessly in her bed. Recently she had been unusually tired, and she could feel her power leaving her. "I haven't felt this bad in millennia." The elleth muttered to herself. She sighed as Thranduil entered the room, holding a tray of food. "I have told you, I'm not hungry."

He put the tray down, his eyes filled with worry. "It is not usual to be so ill." Thranduil sat next to her on the bed. "I think you should see a healer."

Himlóm laughed. "You should have said that before," She smiled at his confused face, "I am a healer."

"You are?" Thranduil was only more confused. "I did not know that." Her smile grew.

"I am. I was one of the chief healers of the Fëanorions. It has been a long time." She sighed, almost longingly, as she thought of those days. The chief advisor of Gil-galad closed her eyes. Thranduil waited patiently as his wife thought, standing up in alarm as she sat back with a groan.

"Are you all right?" He asked fearfully. The prince brushed her ebony hair away from her face, as she turned to look at him.

She gave a smirk. "You like elflings, right?"

"Yes?" Thranduil looked alarmed at the sudden question, but nodded his agreement.

"Good," Himlóm closed her eyes, "I'm expecting twins."

* * *

The minstrel curled up on the bed, exhausted. Her husband was lying next to her, a smile on his sleeping face. Himlóm looked fondly at him, before crawling out of bed. She carefully walked across the room, stopping beside a crib. Inside were two newborn elleths, identical, already attached in the way that elvish twins were. She reached out an arm to brush the cheek of one.

"Little one," Himlóm whispered. It was Glînlith, the eldest of the twins. The elleth smiled as she thought of her eldest daughter, so energetic already. Her hand drew away suddenly, as a flash of vision hit her. It was too late. She saw Glînlith, barely of age, being carried off to die by a horrible creature. The Magloriel realized in shock that it happened in the same place that she would die.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at her daughter, doomed to die. Her gaze went to her younger daughter, Ranrûth. Ranrûth already depended so much on her sister. Without Glînlith, what would happen to her? She touched her other daughter.

Immediately, the visions came. Ranrûth weeping, singing songs filled with sadness. Himlóm sank to the floor. Both of her daughters were doomed. Another vision came. Ranrûth singing a song of protection, Orcist in her hands. A wedding, Ranrûth smiling next to her Noldor husband. The cry of a baby, held carefully in her daughter's arms.

Himlóm sobbed. "What grief is this," She asked herself, "To see the fates of my daughters?" The wife of Thranduil looked at both her daughters. "At least," She said quietly.

Brushing Glînlith's hair, she continued, "At least you will be happy, and live hard, before the end. Your name is right. Your fëa will gleam before it is destroyed, turned into ash."

The elleth took her other daughter's little hand. "Little one," She said, "Your name is also right, for a time. After your sister's death you will wander far, your grief and anger consuming you. However, it will not last. One day you will find the spirit you thought you lost, and begin to live again."

She sighed. "I too will give you names, in the tradition of my kin." The Magloriel looked first at Glînlith. "Your mother-name shall be Linromen." Her eyes turned to Ranrûth. "Yours will be Linandúnê, for you are opposite in all but appearance."

Himlóm drew away from the crib, to the balcony. She looked to the sky, to the silmaril of Lúthien and Beren. "Please," She whispered, "Please. I realize that my family is cursed, and you owe me nothing. But please, o Valar, have mercy. I repeat the plea of my mother, of Alatatir, daughter of Aelinelen. Let my daughters not have this gift, to see the future as clearly as the present." She fell to her knees. "Please."

And the Valar smiled on the house of Fëanor once more.

* * *

The alarm began. For a second, Himlóm's thoughts went terrifyingly to Gondolin, and those alarms ringing. She jolted out of it as Glînlith and Ranrûth began to cry, together in everything. The minstrel of Gondolin had just bent down to comfort her daughters when her husband burst into the room.

"They need you." Thranduil told her, eyes full of worry. She turned to meet his eyes, her heart breaking as she realized what had happened. Even so, she ran to her father-in-law's throne room. Himlóm almost let out a sob as she realized that another vision had been correct.

Linmenel stood, shaking, in the court. "Eregion has fallen," The elleth whispered, "Betrayed by Annatar, as Aelinelen saw. He tricked Celebrimbor into forging nineteen rings of power, before he made a ring to control them all."

Himlóm jolted. "One ring to rule them all. He has made the one ring." She said, her voice filled with grief.

Celebrimbor's wife nodded. "Sauron took," Her voice faltered, "He took Celebrimbor. He wants to know where the three are."

Oropher stood up, a rare expression of concern on his face. "Where are the rings?" He asked desperately.

Linmenel met his gaze. "When Celebrimbor learned of Sauron's betrayal, he sent the rings away. He sent one to Lindon, for Gil-galad; and he sent another to Galadriel. But the last ring," The wife of Celebrimbor turned to Himlóm, "The last he gave to me, to pass on to you." Glimmering on her hand was a ring; beautiful as everything else Celebrimbor had forged. "It is Narya, ring of fire."

Himlóm looked at it for a long while, before hesitantly extending her hand to pick it up. "It's a nice bit of work." She commented, as she slipped it onto her finger. All attention turned from her though, as Linmenel dropped to the floor. "Linmenel!"

The elleth looked up at her husband's cousin. "I cannot live without the love of my life." She said, despair in her gaze. "Please take care of my son; he is with Elrond."

"No!" Himlóm dropped to the floor as Linmenel's eyes glazed over. "Please don't die; I can't lose any more family." She whimpered, beginning to sob. The throne room of Oropher fell silent, filled with the crying of his daughter-in-law.

The king finally stepped forward, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You need to find your cousin's son." He said firmly. She nodded; glad to have something to do.

The chief advisor of Gil-galad ran to the healing halls, thoughts racing through her head. All she could think about was Gondolin, beautiful Gondolin, also destroyed by treachery. Or about another time she had ran to some different healing rooms, for her mother's death. "Please let Elrond be okay." She muttered to herself.

To her relief, Elrond was sitting on a bed, a Noldor elfling in his arms. He looked up at her. The elfling also looked up, eyes filled with fear at the unfamiliar face.

"Do not fear." She murmured. "I am your father's cousin." Himlóm looked at Elrond. "She is gone." The elleth said, not daring to tell the elfling of his mother's death."

"He should go with you." Elrond said, referring to Celebrimbor's son. "You are his closest kin. Your daughters are close to his age."

"As are your sons." Elrond had married Galadriel's daughter, Celebrían, and they had twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan. The presence of Noldor ellons that were twins worried Himlóm often. She feared greatly that they were the identical twins from her great vision. However, there were more immediate matters. "He should go with you."

Elrond gasped. "Why?" He asked. "You and Celebrimbor were so close."

Himlóm shook her head. "It matters not. I have seen the future; he will go with you. There is much I have to do in the coming years; I will not have time to raise another elfling." The Magloriel sat on the bed next to him. "Besides, what would Uncle Curufin say if his grandson was raised among Silvan elves?"

The ellon laughed. "That is very true." The elfling in his arms carefully tracked their conversation, already so much like his father.

The wife of Thranduil frowned, and leaned over to her adopted brother. "Do not go back to Lindon." She whispered. "You must take the refugees, and make a secret elvish stronghold." Elrond nodded, fear in his eyes. He ran off, leaving the elfling sitting on the bed next to Himlóm. She looked at him, wincing as she realized how much he reminded her of Glorfindel, many years ago. "Little one," She said sadly, "I am so sorry, Erestor. I wish so much that you could stay with me. But my part is coming to an end."

* * *

Himlóm walked, slowly and sadly, through the remnants of what had once been her home, once been Eregion. Orcist gleamed in her hands. Prepared as she was, she still jumped when she heard an unexpected sound. "An elleth, crying?" The minstrel murmured to herself. Her eyes widened. "No. Not an elleth." She ran toward the sound, coming to a halt as she arrived.

She looked like an elleth, long auburn hair cascading over pointed ears. It seemed like a normal scene, until she looked up, her eyes too blue to belong to an elf. Himlóm realized with surprise that she recognized the Maia. "You are Zyphe." Himlóm said, remembering the sentencing of Morgoth.

"I am." Zyphe's voice was shaky, filled with grief as she met Himlóm's eyes.

"Why are you here?" Himlóm asked. "I suppose my cousin is getting tortured and you protect captives, but surely you have other things to do?"

Zyphe smiled. "You doubt mercy, but I should not blame you." She sighed. "Celebrimbor is dead. There are things that even I cannot stop."

"I figured." The wife of Thranduil looked at the Maia. "But you are here for another reason as well."

"I should have expected this from Aelinelen's granddaughter." Zyphe sighed. "I am here because of Mairon. You told his brother once that he will be redeemed when Sauron falls. It was a vain hope of mine that this would be the day."

"Why do you care?"

The Maia looked up at Himlóm, her blue eyes filled with despair. "He is my friend." She whispered. "I will always care."

Himlóm nodded. "That I can understand." She said gently. "Do not fear; it will be a while, but you will have him back."

"Thank you." Zyphe stood up, picking up a scythe lying at her feet. She gestured east. "You should go that way; you will find what you are looking for."

The Magloriel nodded, heading in the direction Zyphe had indicated. She looked back; to see the Maia nod to her, then disappear. "This is what you have done, Morgoth." Himlóm whispered. Weaving her way through the desolated streets, she continued on her path. Finally, she reached the outskirts of the city. The elleth groaned in agony.

Her cousin lied on the ground, so badly beaten she almost didn't recognize him. With a cry, she ran to his side. "No!" Himlóm cried. "Telperinquar! You can't be dead! Not you!" The elleth shook as she held her cousin, her dearest friend. Something stirred within her, like when she had sung her mourning song.

A Maia appeared in front of her, darkness following his form. She scowled. No other could see the fear that clung to him, an all-consuming fear of Morgoth that could drive even this, but she felt no mercy that day. "Your cousin told me nothing," Sauron growled, "But his screams comforted me even still."

Time seemed to stop as Himlóm looked around; at Telperinquar's mutilated body, at desolated Eregion, at Sauron's jeering face, at the orcs surrounding her. "Will you not fight little one?" Sauron asked.

"I cannot defeat you," Himlóm hissed, "But I will see you fall, one day. I proclaim it: you will fall."

Then she let out a scream, almost inhuman. It killed all the orcs surrounding her, and banished evil from that area forever. The voice of the line of Fëanor was strong indeed. When her strength was spent, she stopped, and bent by her cousin's body, weeping.

Back in the city, Zyphe shook her head. "Why did you do it, Melkor?" She said, sadly. "Once, you wouldn't have dreamt of doing this."

* * *

Once more, Himlóm strode through the city. She had not been there since the death of Elros, but much had changed. There was pain now, and sadness. Elrond walked beside her, looking despondently at what had become of his brother's people. "It has gotten so bad." He whispered.

"They had help." Himlóm reminded her adopted brother. He nodded. They walked together into the throne room; this time noticed by all.

"Guards!" Ar-Pharazôn had Elros's piercing eyes, but none of his easygoing temperament. "Who are you?" The king demanded.

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "You question us, in what were once my brother's halls?" Everyone looked at him in awe as he continued. "I am Elrond, brother to Elros. You are merely a usurper to his throne."

"How dare you!" Ar-Pharazôn yelled. "It is my right!"

"Very well," Elrond said. "So lead your people to a better future; do not follow the advice of the wicked." He motioned to Sauron, quietly lurking in the background. The Maia did not respond, for he was looking fearfully at Himlóm. She scowled back.

The king rose in his fury. "Why should I listen to you?" His voice thundered through the halls. "You are an elf!"

The chief advisor of Gil-galad stepped forward. "I am Himlóm Magloriel." She said, calmly. "I demand you turn Sauron over to me. He killed my cousin; I deserve retribution. That is a right even the house of Fëanor is not denied."

Ar-Pharazôn laughed. "Your family is hated among even elves; do you really believe in justice? Your cousin deserved his fate."

Even he quieted at her look. "Celebrimbor was tortured to death; even I could not recognize his body." She hissed. "You deny me my vengeance, so I too will take something." Himlóm strode to the king, too quick for any to react.

They realized that she had taken Narsil from the king. "That is my birthright." He protested as she once more joined Elrond.

"It was given by me to your forefather." The minstrel responded. "I may revoke the gift, for you are no descendent of his. In blood, perhaps, but not in spirit." She looked at those assembled in the court. "Your pride will be your downfall, now and forever. This line will be lost many times."

The king was speechless, fuming, but unable to do anything. Sauron looked almost scared; he was not yet powerful enough to beat the elleth. Himlóm sighed. She knew that she would not defeat him, that he was her death.

Elrond stepped forward. "If any of you choose to leave, you will be welcomed in Imladris, for you are kin to me." He looked around. "I implore you to reconsider your choice."

"We will not." The king growled.

"Then that is your death." The two elves departed as Himlóm spoke. Being elves, they reached the boat without problems. "We need to go, now." Himlóm told Círdan. The ellon nodded, and before long they were sailing home.

"I take it that peaceful negotiations didn't work." Círdan said, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"I wouldn't call it peaceful." Elrond grumbled. The three sat in silence for a while. Then Himlóm knew something that she had ignored long. She groaned. The Peredhil turned to look at her. "Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

The wife of Thranduil carefully held the newborn elfling. She lovingly looked at her little son, Sirant. Oropher was delighted that his son had an heir, Thranduil was delighted to have another elfling, and Glînlith and Ranrûth were delighted to have a little brother. Only Himlóm felt any kind of grief.

She hugged Sirant close. "I fear I will not see you come of age." The elleth whispered, before flinching as the visions flooded into her. Sirant, lying unmoving in the healing rooms, leading a great army beside Thranduil, dancing with a Sindar elleth.

Himlóm looked forlornly at her son. "The curse effects my children as well; I wish it were not so." She said. "But like Linandúnê, things will turn out in the end. Your mother-name will be Nárthalion, and you will always persevere." She jumped as her two daughters ran in.

"Can I see him, mother?" Glînlith spoke first, as always. She was energetic and outgoing. Ranrûth nodded eagerly, fine with her sister speaking for her. The younger twin was quieter, depending much on her sister. However, only Ranrûth had Himlóm's powerful voice, her song. To the minstrel's relief, none of her children had anything more than fleeting visions of the future, not their mother's knowledge. Himlóm praised the Valar for it.

"Of course, you can see your brother." Himlóm said, smiling. She bent down to show the elflings their brother.

"What is his name?" Glînlith chirped.

"He is Sirant Nárthalion." Himlóm handed her son to an excited Ranrûth.

"Hello, Sirant." Ranrûth cooed. "Welcome to our family."

Glînlith frowned. "Mother," She asked, "Why do we have two names when no one else does?"

Himlóm gave a faint smile. "Your second name is your mother-name. It is a tradition of my people, which is why none of the Silvans have one."

Glînlith's frown deepened. "Dulin said that your family is all criminals, and that the Noldor are cursed."

Her mother winced. "The house of Finwë is cursed, and we are a part of that, but not all of the Noldor. The house of Fëanor is known for a terrible oath that led to horrible things but not many see that they regretted their actions as well."

The elfling scowled. "But still, they did those things."

Himlóm shook her head. "You are so young." She remarked. "When you are older I will send you to Imladris, to what remains of my kin."

"Why?" Ranrûth spoke then, her voice softer, but more powerful, than her sister's.

"So you can see there is more to this world."


	10. Good and Ill Together

"Who is coming?" Glînlith's dislike of outsiders had been overcome by her curiosity. She and Ranrûth had spent the day running around, disturbing all preparations.

The chief-advisor of Gil-galad smiled. She walked around the room, rocking a sleepy Sirant. "The high king of the exiled Noldor, Ereinion Fingonion, has come to greet the heir of Thranduil."

Glînlith looked confused. "Why would he care?"

Himlóm laughed. "Many reasons," She said. "Our kingdoms are allies, so he must honor the grandson of Oropher. He came for your birth as well."

"Really?"

"Indeed." The elleth's eyes filled with amusement. "He and I are also kin, through our fathers' sides. The house of Finwë is so little now that even the most distant relations stay close."

The twins crept closer. "I did not know you were related to the Noldor king, mother." Glînlith said, curious now.

Himlóm laughed. "Finally, I am his chief advisor. One should always keep their advisors happy." Her laughter grew harder at her daughters' shocked faces. "Where did you think I met your father?"

"Even knowing that, the story is rather unbelievable." They all jumped at the voice. A Noldor ellon had appeared at the doorway, smirking. Himlóm walked over to him, shaking her head.

"My lord," She scolded, "This is not proper. Go back and be announced by the herald."

Gil-galad rolled his eyes. "You lecture me more than even Círdan. I swear that when we met, you told me I was high king; then told me to sit up straighter." She opened her mouth, likely to tell him what she had said, but he cut her off. "I need some advice."

The minstrel nodded. She bent to speak to her daughters. "Why don't you go play with your friends?" They nodded, before running off, casting curious looks behind them.

The pair watched them go. "They take after you." He commented. She smiled; then turned to face him.

"What is the problem?" Himlóm said, with her voice serious. "If it caused you to consult me, it is dire."

Gil-galad sighed. He walked over to the window, staring out at the great forest. She glided over to join him, her eyes going up to the silmaril of Eärendil. The king looked at her. "Were you ever happy?"

Now it was Himlóm who sighed. The Magloriel remembered her you, laughing and playing with Telperinquar and Losmírë. "I was, once." She admitted, sadly. Shaking her head, she met her king's gaze. "Why would you bring up days long gone? What advice are you seeking?"

"I do not know." Gil-galad's eyes were troubled. "However, I need not your foresight to know that something is happening." He put his face in his hands, suddenly despairing. "The race of man has fallen."

She shook her head. "Do not say that. Men are flighty; their strength waxes and wanes like the moon. They will rise again. I must admit that things have begun to happen that will change much. Once again, my family is in the middle of it."

"The house of Fëanor will be redeemed." He spoke so sharply that Himlóm turned to face him.

"You do not know that; you have no gift of foresight."

"I do not need that, prophetess." The king smiled at her. "Your family is stubborn to a fault; it can be a boon or a bane. In this case, I think it will grant you redemption."

"And end the curse on us all." She sighed.

Gil-galad looked at her with concern. "That is good, right?"

Himlóm closed her eyes. "I spoke of this once with Celebrimbor, the answer has not changed. There will be no redemption for me; the pride of Fëanor will claim me as well."

The king nodded. "I assumed as much. The curse will likely bring my life to an end as well." He sighed. "How miserable we are now. Why then do we fight?"

She smiled. "What a question, do you really not know? Have you not known all these years what a king fights for?" He looked at her, confused. "A king does not fight for himself, but for his people. We fight not for our own sakes, but for the others of our line." Her smile faded. "That is what my grandfather did not understand."

They stood in silence for a while, until she turned to look at him once more. "Elrond's sons," She began cautiously, "Elrohir and Elladan, what do they look like?"

Gil-galad looked at her in confusion. "They are Noldor. They take after him, not Celebrían, if that is what you mean."

And the Magloriel thought of the future, and the inevitable, and twins.

"I am so proud of you." Himlóm hugged her daughters. Ranrûth blushed at her mother's praise. The elleths had come of age, excelling as warriors and as leaders. The ceremony had reminded her of her own coming of age, one of the rare times when the entire house of Finwë, on Middle Earth at least, had gathered in full.

Glînlith returned her mother's smile. "I'm glad that training is finally over. It seemed to last forever."

The Magloriel laughed. "Training never stops, not in a certain sense. You will never stop learning and changing. I was officially trained as a healer. Now I am also a smith, minstrel, warrior, advisor, wife, and mother."

Sirant, who had come over to join them, looked stressed. He had just begun his training. "Maybe we can take this one step at a time." Glînlith suggested. She slung her arm over her little brother's shoulder and led him away.

Ranrûth stayed, looking curiously at her mother. "I did not know you were a healer."

Himlóm smiled. "It has been millennia since I have worked in any healing halls. Even I forget I am sometimes."

Her daughter continued looking curious. "Healing has always fascinated me." She admitted.

And Himlóm knew that what she said then would affect the future, for good or for worse. She took a deep breath. "I have an idea." The minstrel of Gondolin said softly. "You should go study healing with Elrond."

Ranrûth's eyes widened. "In Imladris?"

Himlóm nodded. "It would be a great opportunity to not only learn healing, but also about Noldor culture. What remains of my family also dwells there; they would enjoy meeting you."

"But," Ranrûth stammered in surprise, "Glînlith would not go."

"That matters not." The elleth winced at the harshness in her mother's voice. The wife of Thranduil sighed, and looked into her quietest daughter's eyes. "Learning to fight for yourself is important too. Your sister may not always be there." Ranrûth looked doubtful at this, but dutifully nodded.

Ranrûth stood awkwardly waiting in her grandfather's throne room. Glînlith stood by her sister's side, agitation clear in her every movement. "I can't believe you agreed to this." She hissed.

Thranduil put a calming hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You would be bored in Imladris. They are less inclined to action than elves here." He told her. "In any case, it is only for a few months. We all will go there for the Elrondions' coming of age ceremony."

The young elleth still let out an irritated huff. "So, who is coming for Ranrûth, anyway?" Glînlith muttered.

The minstrel of Gondolin smiled. "They sent a relative on my mother's side. He is my cousin's son." Everyone turned to the door as it swung open. The ellon who had entered promptly knocked over and broke a vase. Himlóm sighed. "Glorfindel,"

Glînlith frowned, while both Ranrûth and Sirant laughed. "This is the warrior they sent?" She exclaimed.

Himlóm walked up to Glorfindel. "Glorfindel is one of the best." She assured Glînlith. "He once killed a balrog." The elleth smiled at him. "You look more like Losmîr every time I see you."

The warrior gave her an affectionate hug. "It's good to see you too. Elrond says to write more." Himlóm laughed.

"Don't kill my daughter." She teasingly replied. "You'll need her later."

The Magloriel watched her daughter leave, staring silently through the window. "Be safe." She whispered. "You two are too important to fall now."

She looked at Narya. "Ring of fire indeed. What a sense of irony you had, cousin, to give a granddaughter of Fëanor something connected to fire. The same fire runs in the veins of all of his descendants, in both of us. It has destroyed our line, has killed you, and will be my death." The elleth laughed and walked away from the window.

Her hand rested on her barely swelling abdomen, with the promise of new life. "My son," Himlóm said, barely audible. Not even Thranduil knew she was pregnant again, with the child that would be her last.

This time she saw her child's future before they were even born. She knew that she would die when he was very young. But still she saw: him fighting countless orcs, bow singing; him laughing alongside a man and a dwarf. Finally, he was speaking for mercy in his father's court, much like faithful Zyphe, for all eternity.

"You look like your father," Himlóm commented, "But you have the spirit of my family, our fire and determination. You will be a talented archer, but also friendly to all, socially acceptable or not. I will give you the mother-name Melcú. You are Legolas Melcú.

Himlóm frowned at the letter. It had come by bird from Gil-galad, as quick as possible. Its contents had been, in a word, disturbing. She flinched as Sirant ran through the door. "Mother," He said, giggling as he ran up to her. The elfling sat on her lap, pressing his hand against her belly. "I felt the baby kick." He said, joy in his voice.

The minstrel of Gondolin laughed, pulling her son close. "You are exactly what I needed right now." She told him.

Sirant looked up at her, eyes full of curiosity. "Is everything okay?" He asked. "You look worried."

The elleth stroked his head. "It is only bad news. The former kingdom of a relative has fallen into the ocean, and his descendent are dead, or scattered."

"Why?"

"Because they were prideful." Himlóm closed her eyes. "They thought themselves above punishment; please do not ever make that mistake."

Her son nodded, suddenly solemn. His eyes wandered through the room, searching for something to learn about. The chief advisor of Gil-galad almost laughed, remembering his father's quest for knowledge that had once brought them together. His slender hand pointed at the nearby table. "What is that?" He asked.

She laughed. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" They turned to look at it, a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as eyes. "A family heirloom, made by your great-grandfather."

"Really?"

"Of course. He was many things, but he was first and foremost a smith."

The ride from Eryn Galen had been long and arduous. If it had been for anyone but Elrond's sons, she would not have come. Himlóm hugged her newborn son closer to her. Legolas was so little, so fragile. Even for Elrond she might not have come, except for her fear about her great vision. She had to be there; she knew that.

The Magloriel kept an eye on Glînlith as the party approached Imladris. It would be a surprise for her to see how being away had changed Ranrûth. Oropher let out a relieved sigh as the city came within sight. Despite his rough exterior, the king wanted the best for his people, and despised being vulnerable.

Everyone jumped as a black-haired ellon dropped from the sky, or rather a nearby roof. Oropher frowned as the ellon got up and shouted, "What was that for?" An identical face appeared, smiling at his brother's fury.

"You fell."

"You pushed me!"

"Boys," Glînlith's eyes went wide as her sister ran up. Ranrûth was smiling, more energetic then she had ever been in Eryn Galen. The young elleth helped the ellon on the ground to his feet. "Come on, Elrohir; give a good impression to my family."

Elrohir looked in alarm at the party as his brother dropped beside him. "I am sorry." He stammered. Oropher continued looking irritated, while Glînlith still looked mystified. Himlóm laughed; the sound clear and loud. She slipped off her horse, walking up to the three.

She knew that they were the twins. It brought her back to the past, to when she could confide in Losmírë. "In the next, I am at a coming of age ceremony for two ellons, identical twins, with black hair." Once the minstrel of Gondolin had thought it was Elrond and Elros, but it was clearly those two. More had been revealed.

The ceremony had just ended when there was a commotion outdoors. The guards flung open the doors, thrusting in a man, a descendent of Elros. His eyes were filled with fear. Himlóm looked once more at Elrohir, and smiled. He was the one that would marry Ranrûth. She smiled as she thought of what Oropher would think of it.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" Elrond ran up, looking stressed. "Where have you been? The Eryn Galen delegation is. . ." He broke off, seeing them standing there.

"Here." Oropher finished, dryly. "I see that the Noldor are as exciting as usual. Are you sure they are of age? They seem just elflings to me. Perhaps they will enjoy playing with Sirant."

The wife of Thranduil turned to the embarrassed twins. "Do not worry." She told them. "He is always that bad-tempered; it is not about you."

Ranrûth turned to her mother, excited. "I want to see my new little brother." She insisted. Himlóm smiled, leaning over to show her baby. "Hello, Legolas." Her daughter cooed.

Elrond walked up to her. "He is small to make this trip. You did not need to come."

"I would not have missed it for anything." She assured him. "There are some things that are just fated to be. In any case, you are some of my closest kin, of course I would come." The two hugged. "It has been too long, brother." She whispered.

"Why must you mix greetings with ill premonitions?" The Peredhil grumbled.

"That is the way the world works, all happiness intertwined with grief."

It was a truly awkward dinner, a family gathering of sorts; Gil-galad, Círdan, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Celebrían, Oropher, Thranduil, Glînlith, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, Ranrûth, and her. Himlóm sighed. "Dinner at Maglor's gap after mother died was less awkward than this." She muttered.

Galadriel gave a silent nod of agreement. "It reminds me of any dinner with Fëanor in a bad mood." There was another pause. "The more I think about it, he wasn't that bad before he made the silmarils, right Himlóm?"

The Magloriel shook her head. "You forget again that I did not know him; he died before I was born. All I ever heard were whispered talks from my father and uncles of what he had become." She laughed. "Aunt Culwen always said that he would have been pleased to have grandchildren; he bothered all of his sons greatly for that matter."

Gil-galad smiled. "That reminds me of someone I know, right Himlóm?"

The elleth frowned at him. "That is another thing entirely. You have no heir. What would become of the Noldor after your death?"

"That is assuming much." Elrond commented glumly. "It is likely that we will not last in Middle Earth after what is to come."

Himlóm shook her head. "Our time is drawing to an end; that is true." She admitted. "However, the firstborn will never stop loving this land, and there will always be Noldor blood among them."

"A small comfort," Celebrían said, "But I suppose we should take what we can get."

"Especially in the times that are yet to come." Galadriel said, and all nodded. Erestor looked confused.

"If Fëanor wanted an heir," He asked, "Wouldn't he only bother the eldest about a child?"

Galadriel and Himlóm both laughed at the question. The chief advisor of Gil-galad turned to her cousin's son. "I am sorry for laughing, little one." She said. "That is a funny statement, with the back story. I suppose you could say that Fëanor gave up on Maedhros a long time before that."

Galadriel did not stop laughing. "I swear he dated every available elleth on Valinor." She gasped. "His brothers and cousins teased him mercilessly about it."

"Speaking of failed romances," Thranduil interjected, "You should ask my father for a few of his."

Oropher almost looked embarrassed. "Do not speak of that!"

Celeborn gave a sly smile. "The stories I could tell," He said, "Oropher was the talk of Thingol's court."

They talked the night away, speaking of meaningless things, of love and folly. Perhaps they knew, somehow, that the little peace they had would not last. There was joy in the house of Finwë the night before Elladan and Elrohir came of age.

It was just as Himlóm had seen. The ceremony had been flawless; the Noldor twins had performed their duties perfectly. They were grinning now, warrior braids hanging in their hair. The dinner had been superb, and the celebration had officially begun.

Himlóm smiled as she saw Ranrûth and Elrohir dancing. The two delighted in each other, and their young love was clear. The minstrel of Gondolin laughed at Oropher's disapproval. He had never liked the Peredhil, and his granddaughter loving the Elrondion would surely irritate him. If he knew exactly all that Himlóm had set in motion, he would be furious. She worried not about him.

Her eyes went next to Elrond, who had so great a part in coming days. He was smiling, laughing as he talked with Celebrían. The ellon, despite current public opinions, had not forgotten his brother's descendants. The elves could not win alone, despite their pride; they needed the help of men. It was up to speak for the men. She saw that it was to be.

"Another happy event you are depressed at." Himlóm smiled as Círdan walked up to join her. "This is quite a trend for you, isn't it?"

"Too often sadness has trailed after joy."

"All the more reason to celebrate it." They stood in silence. "There are things stirring in the night, much will change." He looked at her. "Your people, the Noldor, will be less, as well as mine, the Sindar. Even the Silvan will retreat to the hidden places. The men will grow, as the dwarves stay in their mountain realms."

The Magloriel laughed. "Now you are the cynical one, Círdan. The men will be wise, some of the time. There will always remain some of our people, no matter what will come. The dwarves will always do their work, even when they are forgotten, and that will not happen for several ages. And in the end, it will be the people that are unnoticed that will end this."

Círdan sighed. "As usual, you speak in riddles. For once, will you say something clearly?" He broke off as a commotion was heard from outside the door. Everyone watched it as yelling and fighting became heard. The guards threw open a door, thrusting in a terrified man. He looked more like Elros than any of his kin had in a long time.

"This once," Himlóm said, so only Círdan could hear, "I will speak clearly. This is one of my great visions. This is the beginning of the end."

"The end of what?" Fear showed in his normally impassive voice. She looked at him.

"The end of many things."


	11. The World is Still Deceived

"Legolas Melcú?" Boromir looked incredulously at an embarrassed Legolas. "I did not realize that was your name."

"I didn't realize that was your name!" Aragorn exclaimed. "And I've known you for years."

"There was no way you could have known." Legolas said. "I have never used that name. My mother's kin have always been viewed with shame; everything connected with the Noldor has been swept away, for the most part." He looked at Galadriel. "This story has made me think. Perhaps there is more reason to be proud of my mother's side then I have ever thought."

Galadriel smiled. "I am pleased that you are rethinking. Shame is all too common among our children. In all the horror of the first age, it is easy to forget that we did good things too, great thing."

"It's not like you tried to change that." Frodo spoke then, his eyes brighter than they had been in months.

"That is very true." Celeborn admitted. "For example, one can rethink all of the events at Nargothrond, if they had enough information. Especially the interaction with Beren and Lúthien at the end."

Aragorn frowned. "I had always assumed that Culwen interceded."

"Not that time." Galadriel's eyes were distant, full of memories. "She would have killed Beren herself if Lúthien had done nothing. Also, she would have protested far more at Nargothrond if all had been as it seemed. Celebrimbor realized that too late, and always regretted it."

They all fell silent at this, lost in the sudden realization. It was broken by a sigh from Aragorn. "I had hoped that you would tell of the courtship of Elrond and Celebrían. Based on father's embarrassment, and the suppressed laughter of everyone else, it is quite the story."

Galadriel laughed at his words, while Celeborn looked rather embarrassed. "We cannot tell you that." She said. "We were too involved. You should ask Glorfindel though, it is a funny story."

"I do feel a little bad about that." Celeborn admitted. "Don't tell Elrond though."

The Lady of Lothlórien smiled affectionately at her husband. "Don't worry dear, I won't tell anyone that you love your son-in-law." She turned to the fellowship. "We had best continue the story now, with the arrival of Elendil, for that was the man."


	12. The Gloomy Shade

Himlóm's dark words echoed throughout the room, as all turned uneasily to face the man. The guards released him, as he scrambled to keep his footing. There was a weighted silence, and the chief advisor of Gil-galad held her breath. So much rested on what happened next, on how the faithful were received.

Elrond stepped forward hesitantly, his footsteps audible, barely, due to his mixed heritage. He went right up to the man. "You are so much like Elros." He said, voice shaking.

Oropher scoffed. "You are blinded by your grief, Elrond. Do not forget what his people have done. They sheltered a murder."

"Do not hide behind that logic." The Magloriel spoke coldly. "You never cared for my cousin. The truth would be better: that you trust none of the men."

"Excuse me," Everyone looked back to the man. He pulled a scroll out of his robes. "I bring a message."

"From whom?" Gil-galad asked. "And for whom? Who are you, to petition for your people?"

He bowed. "My lord, I am Elendil, king of the men. We found this letter among some of the oldest books. It is from my forefather, Elros, to his brother."

The Peredhil gasped. "For me? But he never. . ." He snatched the letter out of Elendil's hands. Celebrían put a comforting hand on Elrond's shoulder as he poured over the letter.

"Did you tell Elros to write that letter and put it with those books?" Círdan's question was heard only by Himlóm.

She smiled. "Of course. If not for me, he would never have sent anything. Age never taught him things like that."

The king of Eryn Galen was not pacified by the note. "They desire help to defeat Sauron. We should not heed their words; it is not our fight."

"Oropher." The ellon jolted as Elrond quietly said his name. "I am lord of Imladris, not you. They can stay here, as long as they must. I cannot refuse my brother's words."

"War affects us all."

"I will shelter them." Elrond snapped. "Declaring war is not my decision."

"It is mine." Gil-galad stepped forward, between the two ellons. "We will all meet tomorrow; to discuss what must be done."

"It will be," Himlóm said, smiling, "The council of Gil-galad."

* * *

Elendil talked for a long time, of his home and why it fell. Himlóm sighed, bored by what her foresight had long ago showed her. More interesting was to think of what was to come, what she must do. Even she felt fear as she thought of the previous night. There was only one great vision left. She remembered with slight envy the words of her past, so naïve, self. "I am between armies of all races, and there are dark tall gates. There is a Maia in terrible black armor. We fight," Then, "I saw my death."

It was all becoming clear now. The Maia was Sauron, for Mairon was so twisted by fear that he could not remember that there were other ways. She remembered with fury his march on Gondolin. The gates she would die before were the Black Gate of Mordor. Then there was what else she had seen. Thranduil fighting a great dragon, and Glînlith being carried off by a dark creature, screaming. Gil-galad and Elendil killed by Sauron's massive blade, and Isildur thrown to the ground as Narsil was shattered.

Himlóm looked at Elendil, still talking, and Gil-galad, undisciplined as usual. It broke her heart to know that they would soon be dead. That was nothing compared to her thoughts on Glînlith's death. Her daughter was so young. The chief advisor of Gil-galad had known before what was to come, but this was a bitter reminder.

Elendil's voice dragged her out of her thoughts. The man had dropped to his knees, facing the council. "This is not just a war of men. Sauron will grow in power to challenge your rule. Please help us!"

"Sit down." Gil-galad told the man. His eyes swept across his council, looking at the worried faces of all present. Only Himlóm met his gaze, her brown eyes meeting his blue. She nodded, the only calm being in the room.

"What of the rings?" Everyone winced as they heard her almost too straightforward question.

Elendil still looked confused. "What rings?" He asked.

"What rings," She scoffed. "Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky, seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for the mortal men doomed to die, one for the dark lord on his dark throne. We know who wield the elven rings, the dwarven rings are no threat, and there is nothing we can do about the one. What of the rings of men?"

The man winced. "The nine were claimed by some of the worst of Ar-Pharazôn's supporters. They do not even have death now; they are his foul servants for eternity."

"The Nazgûl have set out." Himlóm sat back then. It was they that would kill Glînlith. Tension filled the air in her silence.

Finally, Oropher frowned. "Sauron is a Maia, ending him will be hard. Will an offense even make a difference?"

"There is one thing." Everyone jumped as Mithrandir walked into the council.

"I apologize for not sending for you." Gil-galad told him. "This has all been very sudden."

"That is fine." The wizard said. "There is something I need to say. The only way to defeat Sauron is to destroy the one ring. He put so much power into it; while it exists, so does he."

Celeborn frowned. "Something forged in that way would be hard to destroy. How would it be done?"

"There is only one way." Elrond said. "It must be destroyed in the same place it was forged. It must be thrown into the fires of Orodruin."

"In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie." The Minstrel of Gondolin lamented. "But it must happen, I have seen it."

"There is much death." Oropher grumbled. "Can we not just use the rings?"

Galadriel shook her head. "Only the one was made for war. In any case, the wielder of the one has power over the other rings, and their bearers. They could not last against its power."

"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them." Everyone winced at Himlóm's words. The elleth sighed. "With all of our forces it will take about one year to reach Mordor, with heavy casualties. Are we willing to make that sacrifice?" Her gaze traveled to all in the council. Gil-galad nodded, then Elrond, Celeborn, Elendil, and Galadriel.

"I will not!" Oropher's voice boomed through the room. "This is not our war; it is a war of others. My people will not die pointlessly."

"This has a reason!" Thranduil shouted, glaring at his father. His wife shook her head, silencing him.

"Your mind is made." She said, calm as always. "I implore only one thing. Sauron has killed my cousin, dear Celebrimbor, and misused his works. His family deserves retribution. AS the eldest of his close kin, I ask you: Is there nothing I can do?"

Oropher sighed. "What do you want, Magloriel?"

Her eyes flashed with the fire of her grandfather. "To win this battle, we must recruit the ents; I have seen it. I propose we sent the Thranduiliel and the Elrondion to persuade them of our cause."

"You would send your daughters on the errand?" Galadriel queried. "It is likely that they will end up fighting in this war."

"I know." Himlóm said. "But I have seen it."

"Very well." Oropher grumbled. "I will spare my granddaughters for this task."

Gil-galad stood. "We are in agreement then. All must prepare for what is to come."

His chief advisor shook her head, grieving already for what was to come. "In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie."

* * *

"Can you see what is to come?" Elrond walked up to his adopted sister. She stared at the night sky; eyes fixed on one particular star.

"It is strange," She said, "How much happened because of those cursed gems."

"Do not think of that." He said firmly. "It is a new age; the silmarils are nothing now."

Himlóm shook her head. "The debt must still be paid. The past is not behind us." The Magloriel turned to face Elrond. "And there are things that must be said, confessions of a sort."

"Sister?"

The minstrel of Gondolin ignored him. "They speak now of Turukáno's refusal to leave Gondolin as folly, as if he did not know what was to come. This was not so. I told him long before Tuor came that Gondolin would fall, and that he would die with his city. Even so, he made his choice.

_Himlóm and Turukáno stood alone in the throne room, as everyone else went to celebrate the arrival of the man. She looked at him. "Even Ulmo warns you now. Will you not leave?" The elleth sighed as he shook his head. "Why?"_

_ The king turned to his cousin's daughter. "That is simple." He said. "I am done running and hiding. This time, even at the cost of everything, I will fight. And I will die for the right thing."_

Elrond shook his head. "That is amazing. Why did you not tell of this before?"

She gave a wry smile. "I have always seen what I must do. My next story is also of Gondolin. All this time and people still think that we had no warning. Do they really think it is that easy to evacuate a city?"

"It is not." The Peredhil said softly. "You were warned of the attack. Not by you, Himlóm, that is not your way."

"No." The elleth whispered. "We were warned by Maeglin."

_Himlóm almost ran through the barren landscape. If her visions were correct, then it would be even more dangerous than usual. She winced as she heard the filthy language of the orcs. Not even a traitor deserved this. It seemed too long before they left the ellon; there could no rescue like for Glorfindel. Finally, the noises fell away, as the orcs left their victim. The Magloriel stepped out of the shadows._

_ "Maeglin," He winced, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Come with me. You must return, just as Gondolin must fall. I will tell no one what happened, even if you don't."_

_ "No!" Himlóm jumped as Maeglin interrupted her. The elf rose to his feet, his eyes filled with a determination that she had not seen in him before. "I will admit what I did." He met her gaze, as his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I regret everything."_

"We returned to Gondolin, and Maeglin told Turukáno. No one else knew, but Turukáno made sure that everything was ready. Our duel over the cliffs was planned." She sighed. "I did not expect him to jump like that; he was too good to fall."

Elrond looked pale. "Maeglin redeemed himself." The Peredhil muttered.

"I think so." Himlóm said. "However, there will always be those who think he is a traitor, even when they know everything. Perhaps I am inclined to believe in redemption, based on my family history. That is no blessing. It is the last of my confessions."

"Please do. How can mercy be a vice?"

The elleth sighed. "Celebrimbor knew exactly what Annatar was. He had inherited Aunt Culwen's sight; he saw right through the Maia's illusions. My cousin was too merciful; he believed that Sauron could still be changed. Obviously, he was wrong, another victim of the pride of our family, just as I had seen."

_"This is insane!" Himlóm stormed into her cousin's study, the door slamming into the wall as she swung it open._

_ Celebrimbor winced as he imagined what that would do to the wall. "Cousin,"_

_ "Don't 'cousin' me." The Magloriel hissed. "Why are you sheltering Annatar? Surely you can tell what he truly is."_

_ The Curufinion sighed. "Of course, I know he is Sauron, but I also see what has become of Mairon. If I do not try to save the Maia, do I have the right to complain when the Valar do not forgive our family? This is what I must do, even if it claims my life."_

"Celebrimbor's pride was not in his works, but in his belief in his ability to change Sauron. That is why he died." Himlóm's eyes turned dark, stormy with emotion. "We both knew it. Pride will also claim me."

"Do not say that. There could be another way."

"There is not!" Elrond flinched at her harsh words. She sighed, suddenly looking tired. "I have always seen it."

* * *

Himlóm restlessly paced the halls of Oropher. It was impossible to sit still when people, when her family was dying for a cause that she supported as much as any of them. "Oropher is blind to ignore Sauron. Does he really think that Sauron will not attack his home if we lose?"

"Calm yourself." Himlóm spun around to see her mother-in-law, Elemmírë, looking serene as usual. "You do no good to your cause by pacing like a caged cat."

"I don't recall that you were always patient about getting what you wanted," The Magloriel said with a smile, "Were you not the Ranlindë, the straying singer, of Valinor? Ingwë, your own uncle, barred you from the ranks of the Vanyar for questioning the Valar and Finwë, whose advisor you were in a time long past, banned you from Tirion for questioning him."

Elemmírë tipped her head, thinking. "Though I am still convinced that I did the right thing in both of those situations," She said slowly, "Much time has passed. Sometimes it is best to confront an issue directly, but sometimes it is best to proceed more cautiously. Why would Oropher want to fight Sauron?"

"He would only do it to protect his realm." Himlóm said.

"Exactly," Elemmírë responded. She sighed. "I feel the weight of many years on me, though I do not look it. Your family learned how to sing from me, but I fear that I could no longer have such force behind my words, even with my precious Aldudénië. Perhaps I have felt too much grief for my voice to have the power that it once did."

Himlóm smiled. "All you need is inspiration. If your home, or your family, was threatened, then you could sing as you once did."

"Perhaps," The elleth said, "But that day will not come for millennium if it ever does. The question is, what will you do now?"

* * *

"Do you not hear the messages?" The court of Oropher was filled with elves clamoring for news of the war. Day after day had brought only bad tidings for years. It was clear that Eryn Galen was needed. Only one would dare tell this to Oropher.

"People are dying." Himlóm continued, with her fury clear. "Elves and men alike are falling. Do you really want that on your conscious?"

"My people are not dying." Oropher responded. "And I will not yield to your. . ."

He broke off as another messenger burst into the room. They bowed to Oropher, handing him a sealed scroll. The king read it, frowning. "What is it?" Thranduil asked, seeing his father's face.

"I don't believe it." The elder ellon muttered. He turned to glare at his daughter-in-law. "I suppose you knew this would happen." Himlóm only smiled. Oropher turned to his court. "Elrohir Elrondion has asked for the hand of Ranrûth Thranduiliel."

Himlóm laughed. "That is a mere formality, he will marry her. So, what will you do?"

The king of Eryn Galen was silent for a long time. "Once again, I am kin to the Noldor." He murmured, lost in thought.

The chief advisor of Gil-galad knelt beside him. "Make your decision." She begged. "This is what I have seen: your land troubled always by the darkness, until that is all it is known for. Do you truly wish to be the king of Taur e-Ndaedelos?"

"No." The ellon stood forcefully. He looked directly at Himlóm. "Is this truly what must be done?"

"Yes." She swept to her feet, looking very much the great elven lady that she was. Meeting his gaze, she responded. "In this alone will I follow you, I, Himlóm Nárlindë Makalaurëiel, say that this will be done."

"So, it will." Oropher looked at his people, his eyes sweeping over the halls that Himlóm knew he would never see again. "We go to war."

* * *

There was already so much death. The smell of blood and decay hung in the air, the humidity not helping the putrid scent. The minstrel of Gondolin trod carefully through the field, looking around her in horror. "This is worse than any of my visions." She muttered.

"You have fought before." The elleth jumped at the voice, spinning around to face the speaker. Tension left her body as she saw who it was.

"Mithrandir," Himlóm sighed, "You startled me."

The wizard looked curiously at her. "What are you thinking? You seem preoccupied, prophetess."

She shook her head sadly. "I have never seen a war like this." Her eyes went away, towards Mordor. "I know how this must end, and I will do it. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if it is all worth it."

_ For just a second, Culwen looked more than just a simple elleth. Then it passed, as she laughed. "Little one," She said, "There is a burden in knowing what is to come. All you can do is your best."_

_"It is no strength!" Himlóm exclaimed. "If I were strong then I could prevent what is to come!"_

_ "No one can." Galadir responded._

_ "There is a reason." He insisted. "You can change nothing, but you can advise others in their ways, and comfort them in troubles. Your gift has the potential to shape lives for the better, if you only would use it for that purpose."_

_ She looked doubtfully at the sword. "How can I help anyone?" She asked, so quietly he almost did not hear it._

_ Turukáno smiled in response. "It only begins with a single action."_

"No. It is worth it. I will do what I can." She looked at the Istari. "To avenge my kin, and to free Middle Earth, I will continue on my path."

Mithrandir shook his head. "No one would think any less of you if you refused or tried to find another way."

"I will do neither. This is my pride." Himlóm sighed. "My confidence that my visions show what must be done is pride indeed. I have never tried another way, not will I ever. In the end, that pride will claim me, just as pride claimed my kin."

"Himlóm."

"I will not be swayed." The chief advisor of Gil-galad met his worried gaze. "There is something you can do." She took a deep breath; then slipped Narya off of her finger. The elleth held it up to Mithrandir. "Take it."

He backed up. "No, it was given to you by your cousin."

"I would rather pursue vengeance than an heirloom." Himlóm gave a forced smile. "And when I fall, I do not want Narya to fall into evil."

"It was made for elves, not me." Mithrandir protested.

"It is the ring of fire." The wizard winced at the intensity of her voice. "It was given first to me, granddaughter of the spirit of fire, for the same fire runs through my veins. I now give it to you. All that you do is for your brother, a Maia of Aulë. To save a spirit of fire, you will use this ring, the ring of fire."

Mithrandir closed his eyes. "I will take it."

* * *

Battles were always hard. A part of her spoke of the great deeds and courage of war. Another part spoke of caution. "Look at what war has done to your family." The voice whispered. Both arguments were right, in a way, but one was a much harder lesson to learn.

If Himlóm closed her eyes then she could see it again. Oropher, armor gleaming in the sunlight, casting down foe after foe. For just an instant, he seemed invincible. Soon, even he fell, overcome by the great host facing him.

The wife of Thranduil stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her husband. "He is at peace now." The ellon only nodded, tears running down his face. Himlóm was silently relieved that Legolas and Sirant were too young to be present, and Glînlith and Ranrûth were not there yet. She did not want her children to see their father like this.

Her thoughts flew away as Galion approached them hesitantly. Thranduil jumped as the other ellon went to his knees. "My king," The butler breathed, with his eyes still full of grief.

Thranduil shook his head. "I am not your king yet." His gaze swept over his war-weary people. "I will follow tradition and will be crowned in our great halls. Do not give up hope. We will return; we will win this war."

And Himlóm smiled once more. Her husband's optimism was admirable, and part of why she loved his. He would survive this, a different, more cautious person. More like his father, forgetting the days they had spent dancing together.

"Do not forget me," She whispered in Thranduil's ear, "No matter what happens."

He turned to face her; their noses almost touching. "I will never forget you." He whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too." Himlóm said, laughing, as he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

* * *

There was no need for her to follow the rumors, as her kin had tried. It reminded Himlóm of finding Gondolin, alone, following nothing but visions. She laughed now at her past fears. Even if she refused to try another way, her visions were always correct. This time though, she was not seeking a place, but a person.

She heard him first, her keen ears picking up his singing. It had been a long time since she had last heard that singing. He did not hear the minstrel's approach, caught up in misery. Himlóm paused for a moment, breathing in the salty sea air. "Father?"

Maglor spun around, eyes widening as he saw his daughter. "Himlóm? What are you doing here? What of your family? What of the war?"

"So many questions." She said, laughing. "My sons are in Eryn Galen; the twins are recruiting the ents. Thranduil is with the armies, and there has been a temporary cease in fighting before the end." The Magloriel smiled, glad that her father had, after all this time, kept track of her.

"What are you doing here?" The last Fëanorion repeated; his voice gentle. He looked closer at her. "You have seen something."

"Sauron will not be defeated now," Himlóm said, "Due to the folly of men. When he is next confronted our house will be redeemed. Follow the king of Gondor when the time comes."

He nodded, before sighing. "You would not tell me this now if you could later."

The Magloriel looked down, ebony hair falling over her face. "I will die in this war. I know it; I have always known it." She began to look truly upset. "After all of my scorn towards the Valar, I will still end up there."

Maglor gently cupped her head in his hands, bringing her up to look at him. "Don't fear, my dear. You will love Tirion; it will remind you of Gondolin. And you will be able to serve your king, Turgon, and his wife, Elenwë. Think of all the people you will be able to see again: Esgaldûr, Losmîr, Maeglin, Ecthelion, Idril, Tuor, Camdú, Celebrimbor, and all the others who have died."

"I know." Himlóm smiled. "Death is not an end, but a new beginning."

"I am so sorry." Maglor's voice was filled with sudden pain. "I swore an oath, and you have suffered for it. You could be living happily in Valinor right now, unaware of such pain."

"Do not weep, father." His daughter replied softly. "Not all went ill. If the Noldor had not come then I would not have Thranduil, nor would Elrond and Elros even exist. It is things like that, the good that occurred despite the oath, which will redeem you."

Maglor let out a tearful laugh, pulling Himlóm into a gentle hug. "I love you, little one."

She returned the laugh. "I love you too, father."

* * *

We are almost to Mordor." Gil-galad said, bending over a huge map of Middle Earth in his ten, with Himlóm standing beside him. He frowned. "Soon we will have to confront the full force of his armies, as well as Sauron himself."

"It could be worse." His chief advisor responded. "Sauron has been defeated before, by Lúthien and Huan; he is not Morgoth." She looked thoughtfully at her king. "Do you fear what is to come?"

Gil-galad sighed. "I should have taken your advice." He said with a groan. "It would be nice to have an heir, someone to lead the Noldor in my stead."

Himlóm laughed at his words, laughing even more as he turned to frown at her. "You have an heir, my lord," She exclaimed, "Though you have no son. Who is your nearest kin, your closest friend, and leader of a sizable portion of the Noldor?"

"Elrond." Gil-galad whispered. "I fear that our people would not respect him as king. Great-grandson of Turgon or not, they will never accept his upraising by the Fëanorions."

"Do not fear that." The Magloriel responded. "He will not be a king; there will not be enough of the Noldor to need a high king."

Gil-galad gave a weak smile. "Only you would mix comfort with sad news." He said. "You are right, Elrond is my heir. I will give him Vilya."

"The ring of air," Himlóm mused, "A fateful choice for the Eärendilion. One might think that Vilya was made for Elrond."

"Only you would know that now." Gil-galad said softly. "Who did Celebrimbor intend to give the rings to?"

The minstrel of Gondolin stood silent for a moment. "I do not know." She lied. Gil-galad looked at her in surprise, shocked by the obvious lie. Himlóm so rarely lied that it was obvious when she was. She met Gil-galad's gaze. "I was sworn to secrecy, even if I think it is nothing, I will keep silent."

The king opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a disturbance in the forest. "What is that?" He hissed. Himlóm slowly drew Orcist as the noise approached them. They both tensed up as the trees in front of them parted, both elves anticipating the worse.

"To think that I would have lived to have a sword pulled on me by Aelinelen's granddaughter." The voice boomed through the clearing. Gil-galad stared in awe at the ent towering over them. Himlóm laughed, stepping forward.

"To think I would have lived to see the great Fangorn." She responded. "Your renown is great among the elves."

He gave her a look. "I know now where your daughters get their persuasiveness."

"My daughter?" Himlóm asked sharply. "Are they with you?" The old ent laughed, as both her daughters and the Elrondion appeared behind him. The minstrel let out a sigh of relief at the sight, walking over to hug the young elleths. "You should have written more." She grumbled.

"We figured we should worry you as much as possible." Glînlith said, smiling. "Being as grandfather will never let us leave Eryn Galen again." The Magloriel's smiled faded. "Mother?"

Himlóm sighed. "Oropher is dead. Your father is now king of Eryn Galen." The younger elves all looked at her in shock. She turned to glare at Elrohir. "And if you do anything to my little girl, you will soon join him."

"Don't worry." Ranrûth told a terrified-looking Elrohir. "I'm almost certain that she's not serious."

* * *

"You seemed to have talked to everyone." The prophetess nodded at Galadriel's calm words.

"There is much to do before the end." Himlóm responded. The two kinswomen stood face to face, unseen by all others. The minstrel of Gondolin took a deep breath. "I realize that we have never gotten along." She began.

"That's an understatement." Galadriel muttered. Himlóm shot her an exasperated look.

"I need a favor." The Magloriel finished. She pulled something out of her robes; it was a candlestick, made of mithril, a serpent coiling around the center, with two emeralds as eyes. "Can you give this to Ranrûth when she gets married?"

Galadriel looked confused. "Can't you?" She asked, before her eyes grew wide with realization. "Unless. . ."

"I die." They looked at each other. "Please do this." Himlóm begged. "I am not just a descendent of Fëanor; I am a granddaughter of Aelinelen, who once taught you."

"I will." Himlóm gratefully handed the heirloom over. Galadriel took it, looking curiously at Himlóm. "I know what you have said of pride," The lady said, "But surely that is not your only motivation to follow your fate. If you see all, could you not stop your death?"

The chief advisor of Gil-galad hesitated. "I feel," She said slowly, "That a part of me would make this choice even if I did not need to. After all Sauron has done, I believe I would still pursue vengeance. He was the one to lead the attack on Gondolin, even before he killed Celebrimbor and Gil-galad."

"You still miss Gondolin?" Galadriel asked. "After all this time you still consider Turukáno your king, so long after his death?"

Himlóm's eyes filled with pain. "Always." She whispered. "I still know that my pride is what will kill me, my steadfast pride in my foresight has led me to this moment."

For the first time, Galadriel felt pity for her uncle's kin. In that moment, an old stubborn quarrel crumbled, and the house of Finwë was finally reconciled within itself. In Valinor, Aelinelen sat back from her basin under the stars and smile, relieved that the curse said in anger was closer to being invalidated.

"Wait." Galadriel said. "Did you say that Sauron killed Gil-galad?" Himlóm winced but nodded. The two stared at each other again. Unlike any other time though, the Magloriel spoke, of the past, the present, and the future. She spoke the truth. All that she knew was revealed to Galadriel. That is how I know this story, and I am the only to know it.

* * *

Himlóm's heart stopped as she saw the sight in front of her. The fighting had grown in intensity as they had approached Mordor, and even she was tired. Just when it seemed like the last alliance (though it would not be the end, she knew) would win, he had appeared. Sauron towered over their armies, black armor seeming to suck in all light.

The wife of Thranduil frowned as she saw the one ring gleaming on Sauron's finger. The fighting around her stopped, as people ran from Sauron.

The chief advisor of Gil-galad looked to her right as a scream pierced the air. "Thranduil." She whispered, filled with dread. Her husband had been fighting dragons, great serpents of the North. He would live, but with horrible scars that would never heal.

The minstrel of Gondolin winced at an outcry to her left. The Nazgûl had killed Glînlith, her poor, sweet daughter, and would carry her body off. Ranrûth would follow, devoting millennia to grief instead of joy. Galadriel would keep the candlestick for a long time.

The Magloriel, still in shock from her daughter's death, watched as Sauron was confronted. She watched in horror as Gil-galad was struck down, dead before he hit the ground. Elrond dropped the banner, Círdan holding the struggling Peredhil back. His screaming drew the attention of everyone, just in time for Sauron to fell Elendil. Isildur let out a cry of rage, charging Sauron with Narsil. Himlóm winced as one of her two great swords was broken, and Isildur thrown to the ground.

Time seemed to stop as Sauron stalked towards Isildur. Himlóm knew that she could aid neither her husband, nor her daughter. She sent a silent prayer to the Valar for all her death would affect. And the Magloriel stepped forward.

The crowds parted as she approached Sauron, softly singing a war song she had learned long before. "You are a fool, Himlóm." He growled. "Just like your cousin. It was a pleasure to make him scream."

Himlóm merely smiled, holding back her fury. "He did not reveal the three." She replied, simply. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Isildur; the man was reaching for the shards of Narsil. Even with all the evil it would do, Isildur had to defeat Sauron and get the ring. She drew Orcist.

Sauron laughed when he saw her sword. "You are one of the few who could beat me," He said, "But not today. The fighting has already exhausted you. You will die."

"Indeed, I will." She responded; then viciously swung Orcist. The battle that ensued was furious, between two incredibly skilled warriors. In later years it would be compared to the duel between Morgoth and Fingolfin, and it came to the same result. The two dueled for hours, sword against sword. Finally, with a triumphant cry, Sauron ran his sword through Himlóm's body, a fatal blow.

In that moment, Himlóm looked directly at Sauron, and he truly feared. "You will not die today," She said, pausing to cough out blood, "Although today will cause a great change. One day Narsil will be reforged and be wielded by the heir of Isildur. It is then that you will next face defeat, the only other time when there is a chance that you will fall."

"This is ridiculous." Sauron growled, looking at the elleth impaled on his sword. "There is no chance I will fall."

The Magloriel smiled. "If your death does come," She continued, "It will be at the hands of a being you have always underestimated, another folly of yours."

With a shout of rage, Sauron pulled his sword out. Elrond let out another cry as blood began to spurt out of the wound. Himlóm looked at Sauron once more, the elleth already pale from blood loss. "That is my final proclamation." She breathed, as her last great vision was fulfilled.


	13. No Other Medicine

Unfortunately, this is now the end of this story. Hopefully I will soon write more (another is currently in progress, but it may take a while) in this au, and answer some lingering questions. Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed my story. Your support is greatly appreciated.

* * *

"Orcist was lost in the chaos that followed Sauron's defeat." Galadriel spoke into the shocked silence.

"Hold on," Aragorn said, "Ranrûth, Himlóm's heir, has Orcist now, doesn't she? How did it get to her from Thorin, and from the battlefield to Thorin?"

Legolas turned to his friend. "Scavengers must have brought it north, mistaking it for a lesser sword. I do know that Ranrûth came to the Battle of Five Armies and claimed her birthright."

"Sauron will only fall at the hands of a being he has underestimated," Boromir muttered, "Could that be a hobbit?"

"Wait," Pippin's voice cause all to turn to him. "That was it?" He exclaimed. "There are so many questions left."

Celeborn gave a faint smile. "Many of those will hopefully be answered by your journey." He said.

"That reminds me." Aragorn rose to his feet before continuing. "Ranrûth and Elrohir are engaged? I have known both of them all my life, but I didn't know that."

Galadriel laughed. "I would hope not, you are still very much a child to them." Her smile faded. "I have had this candlestick for much longer than I ever imagined. After Glînlith died, Ranrûth fell into a pit of despair. It took centuries for Elrond to convince her to serve as one of his advisors."

"I don't understand." Sam said. "How did her sister's death change her that much?"

"It hasn't," Legolas responded, "Not in the end. Recently, Ranrûth has started fighting again, more like she used to be. Many things are changing. No matter how this ends, the elves cannot win."

"That is not true." Everyone looked at Galadriel, who was now standing, eyes flaming in the dusk. "The house of Fëanor will be redeemed. The curse on the house of Finwë will be undone. That is enough of a victory for me."

"And we will be united for once." Celeborn added.

All there agreed on the point. From that moment on, despite their separation, they all felt renewed purpose. The group truly became a fellowship, the end of a slow process.

* * *

In Valinor, in fair Tirion, stood the house of Turukáno. There it was that those once of Gondolin gathered, still serving their lord. At the moment that Galadriel ended her story; the Gondolindrim got a surprise visit.

"Grandmother!" Himlóm descended from Turukáno's side to give Aelinelen a gently hug. "It is rare for you to come here. How is Glînlith?"

Aelinelen let out an irritated huff. "Oropher is taking good care of your daughter; he said he wished she would visit more. Your mother watches the sea as of late, waiting for your father."

"She is waiting." Himlóm responded. "That is more honest than most. Everyone admits that things are much less exciting without the house of Fëanor."

"True." Aelinelen smiled. "And she will not wait much longer. Your last proclamation is coming true. Soon, Sauron will be defeated and by the works of you and your kin, your house will be redeemed."

"I am glad." Himlóm responded. "I miss my father's kin. After all, they are family."

* * *

As a reward for finishing this story, included is a list of all of the ocs in this story and their relations. Hopefully this will help keep track of them better (of least a little). Quenya is in parenthesis if two names are listed for one person.

Aelinelen had two daughters. One, Galadir(Alatatir) married Maglor and had one daughter, Himlóm. She married Thranduil and had four children, Glînlith(Linromen), Ranrûth(Linandúnê), Sirant(Nárthalion), and Legolas(Melcú). Ranrûth is engaged to Elrohir. Himlóm's cousins were Celebrimbor(Telperinquar) and Losmîr(Losmírë). Celebrimbor married Linmenel and their son was Erestor. Celebrimbor's parents were Curufin and Culwen(who, being from the future, has many unknown relations). Losmîr married Esgaldûr and their son was Glorfindel, who was raised by Camdú(Malomë). Thranduil's parents were Oropher and Elemmírë, whose uncle was Ingwë.


End file.
